Finding Courage
by SturmKatze
Summary: Draco Malfoy had always known exactly who he was was: a pure-blooded wizard, heir to the Malfoy family, and future Slytherin. He thought that everyone else knew this, too. Until the Sorting Hat decides to place him in Gryffindor. / Slight AU, basically re-write with Draco in Gryffindor, starting from Year One.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone, before we dive headfirst into this story, I feel I owe you a few fair warnings.**

**First, I have been writing fanfiction for years, but I usually don't post them as I have a habit of running out of ideas and abandoning them half-way through. I will, however, do my very hardest to get this one finished.**

**Second, English is not my native langaugue, so there probably will be mistakes. I still hope I have managed to avoid butchering it too terribly...**

**Third, this has Gryffindor Draco, so I guess this is semi-AU. Some things obviously will be different. Others will stay the same. There will be scenes from both of the books and the movies involved, as well as stuff I made up.**

**Warnings for some bad languague, lots of feelings, and Draco being a drama queen.**

**Sooo... if all that hasn't scared you away and you're still willing to join me on this ride: Welcome aboard!**

**Oh, and I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, etc. Those all belong to JK Rowling, I'm just borrowing them for a while.**

* * *

Finding Courage Chapter One: Down the Rabbit Hole

Somewhere in the heart of London, well hidden from prying eyes, lay Diagon Alley. As usual, the main shopping street of the British wizarding world was busy, bustling with people in robes and even a few in ordinary clothes: witches and wizards, shopping for spellbooks, potion ingredients, and many other strange and miraculous things that non-wizarding folk could only imagine in their wildest dreams.

Today, those shoppers included a very, very tall man – more of a giant, really – with a lot of very wild hair and an equally wild beard. He easily could have made the impression of being a rather dangerous bloke, if not for the gentleness in his twinkling black eyes. Still, he strode easily through the bustling masses, parting them as Moses once did the red sea.

Trailing behind him was a rather short and skinny boy, a boy with with unruly black hair, bright green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. His name was Harry Potter, and until a few hours ago, he had not even known of the wizarding world's existence, much less that he was actually a wizard himself.

Orphaned at just one year old, Harry had spent most of his life with his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys. It had been a rather bleary existence, as the Dursleys, for some reason, really hated Harry. For the last ten years, he'd spent his time growing up in a cupboard, being treated like a domestic servant by his oh-so-loving relatives, who just loved ordering him around. And to make matters even worse, the Dursleys also had a son, Harry's cousin Dudley. Dudley was the same age as him, and he loved to make Harry's life miserable.

Not only did Harry have to watch as the Dursleys spoiled their son rotten while Harry was only ever given old things that Dudley did not want or need anymore, no, he also had to endure being the constant target of his cousin's taunts, as well as being his favorite punching bag.

It certainly did not help that Harry was not your average boy. Strange things sometimes seemed to happen around him, things that no one was able to explain properly. Take Dudley's last birthday, for example... a boa constrictor at the zoo had talked to Harry – yes, a snake talking to him! - and if that was not not odd enough already, the glass cage holding it had mysteriously disappeared, leaving the snake to roam around freely. It had scared the hell out of a lot of people, including Dudley.

Harry had never been able to explain why those things happened, but that never stopped the Dursleys from punishing him for it. Often, they would lock him in his cupboard for weeeks on end, only letting him out for school. It gave Harry something to do besides going crazy from boredom, but aside from that, school was not much better than home. Many kids there teased him relentlessly for his battered glasses (held together with a lot of tape, because his charming cousin had broken them more than once) and old, ill-fitted clothes (all hand-me-downs from Dudley, who was much larger than Harry). And those few who did not were afraid of getting too close to Harry, because they feared retribution from Dudley if they did.

No surprise, then, how often Harry had dreamed of leaving the Dursleys behind and going to live somewhere else. But unfortunately, he had nowhere else to go. The Dursleys were his only living relatives – Petunia Dursley was his late mother's sister – so Harry was pretty much stuck.

Then, a few days ago, everything started to change.

Strange letters had started arriving. They were adressed to Harry, which was unusual enough, as there was no one Harry could think of who would write to him. Even stranger was the fact that aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon seemed dead set on making sure Harry never got to read any of these letters. As more and more of them had started arriving – some of them under quite strange circumstances; honestly, who would even think of hiding letters _inside_ of eggs? - his uncle's behaviour had grown more and more erractic. Finally, Vernon Dursley seemed to have snapped completely, taking his family on a wild chase across the country in a desperate attempt to flee from the evil mystery letters. It was what had led to them ending up on a rocky island in the sea, with nothing but a dilapidated hut for shelter and a major storm raging around them.

The following night had been Harry's eleventh birthday, not that the Dursleys bothered to remember. But it also had been the night an enormously big man had turned up at their temporary dwelling despite the storm and everything. In fact, it was the same man leading him through Diagon Alley now. The man's name was Rubeus Hagrid, and what he told Harry had turned his life upside down.

He, Harry Potter, was a wizard, as had been his parents. The Dursleys had known all along but never told him. At least, Harry now knew why strange things kept happening to him and why the Dursleys hated him so much: aside from being muggles (non-magical folk, Hagrid said), they also hated everything that was even slightly different or out of the ordinary. And, well, you couldn't get much more different than being a wizard.

The Dursleys had also lied to him about how his parents had died. For years, they told Harry that his mother and father had died in a car crash. Hagrid, however, revealed that they had in fact been murdered... by a wizard so evil that people did not even dare to speak his name. It had taken Hagrid several tries to finally get the name out – Voldemort – and then he shocked Harry quite badly by telling him Voldemort had tried to kill him, _Harry_, too. And yet, Harry somehow had survived where others had not, left with only the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. What's more, their encounter had somehow destroyed Voldemort's power. After failing to kill Harry, the Dark wizard had vanished without a trace, leaving the world a much happier place.

Harry didn't know how it was even possible for him to destroy such a powerful wizard when he had been nothing more than a baby. Neither did Hagrid, or anyone else for that matter, but apparently, the people of the wizarding world were rather grateful to Harry for ridding them of such evil. To them, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the famous hero who had vanquished the Dark Lord. To Harry, this felt strange; to think he was famous without even knowing, for something he did not even remember.

And as if that was not enough to set Harry's mind reeling, Hagrid presented him with yet another one of the strange letters that had the Dursleys so scared. One peek inside, and Harry understood why. The letter informed him that he had been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which apparently was a wizarding school, and invited him to come and study, well, magic.

Of course, the Dursleys were adamant about him not going... the last thing they wanted was for their freak nephew to go and learn magic so he could make even freakier things happen. Unfortunately for them, Hagrid was just as insistent that Harry should go. And argument ensued that ended with Hagrid hexing a pig's tail on Dudley. After that, the Dursleys stopped struggling, if only out of fear that the giant man might turn them all into god-knows-what.

Come morning, Hagrid had all but whisked Harry away to London so he could buy all the stuff he needed for school, which led to them currently striding along Diagon Alley. Not that Harry minded, rather he was jumping at the chance to get away from his relatives, if only for a while.

Hagrid's words about Harry being famous turned out to be only too true. On their way to Diagon Alley, they passed through a seedy-looking pub called the Leaky Cauldron. The barkeeper there seemed to know Hagrid quite well, but the truly strange part was that he somehow recognized Harry. And suddenly, everyone present wanted to talk to the baffled boy and shake his hand.

It was odd and slightly uncomfortable, to see all those people looking at him with awe and admiration. The Dursleys had only ever looked at him like he was something the cat had dragged in, and people at school had either mocked or avoided him. But now, all these people thought he was someone great – a hero, even – because of something he could not even remember.

One of those people there was actually one of his future teachers at Hogwarts, a rather nervous young man wearing a huge turban. Hagrid introduced him as Professor Quirell, teacher of something called Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry shook his hand while secretly feeling sorry for him; Quirell had a bad stutter and seemed so jumpy that Harry thought he might faint if ever confronted with anything even remotely dark.

After that, Hagrid had finally led Harry out into Diagon Alley, which was the strangest and most fascinating place he had ever seen. Brightly decorated shops sold wondrous things, like racing brooms and wands, and people in odd clothes hurried past, talking about strange things and arguing about the price for beetle eyes and unicorn hair. If the Dursleys ever were to see this place, Harry was certain they would drop dead from utter shock.

He, on the other hand, did not quite know where to look first. At a loss, he consulted his Hogwarts letter again, which also included a list of everything he would need for school. Robes, cauldron, spellbooks, a _wand_... then, a rather disconcerting thought struck Harry.

„Hagrid, how am I supposed to pay for all of this?" Harry did not have any money, and he was pretty sure the Dursleys would never pay for anything that would help him study magic.

But Hagrid only laughed. „Ye didn' think yer parents would leave ye with nothing, did ya?" And the giant man took Harry to Gringotts, apparently the wizarding bank. Harry was a litte shocked when they entered and he saw the large hall was full of odd creatures. Sitting behind long counters, counting out money or weighting precious stones, they were rather small, with oversized ears and disconcertingly sharp teeth.

Harry had never seen anything like them and reflexively moved closer to his companion. „Uh, Hagrid? What are they?"

„They're Goblins, Harry. Dead clever, them goblins, but not the friendliest o' creatures. Better not to mess with 'em." the giant explained.

According to Hagrid, Gringotts was the safest place in the world to store your things – aside from Hogwarts, of course – and one had to be mad to try and rob it because of their security measures, most of which would never be found in a muggle bank. Rumor had it those even included dragons.

„I've always wanted a dragon..." Hagrid had said with a wistful look in his black eyes, and Harry's first thought was that having a pet dragon sounded pretty cool indeed. Then he considered in earnest the possibility of a real, live, fire-breathing dragon and quickly decided that maybe it was not such a good idea, after all.

Griphook, one of the Gringotts Goblins, took them on a wild cart ride to the vaults deep underground, along narrow, winding tracks that reminded Harry of the rollercoasters the Dursleys had never allowed him to ride for fear that he might actually enjoy himself. Indeed, Harry found that he rather liked it. Hagrid, on the other hand, was _not_ having fun at all. If anything, he seemed relieved when the cart finally jolted to a halt.

Their first stop was the vault Harry's parents had left him, and the young wizard's eyes widened as he stepped inside and saw it was filled to the brim with glittering coins. It was strange, finding that somewhere deep under London, a vault full of wizarding money existed that had his name on it. It seemed that not only was Harry famous without having known, he was also rich. Or at least, not as poor as he feared he was.

But their adventure at Gringotts did not simply end with getting some money for Harry's school things. Hagrid also had to see to, as he called it, 'official Hogwarts business', and it seemed like his job was to retrieve something top secret and deliver it to Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster. He could not tell Harry more (the whole thing was _top secret_, after all), but it had been enough to make Harry insanely curious. He craned his neck when they reached the second vault, expecting something truly extraordinary. But to his disappointment, the only thing inside was a small and grubby-looking package that the gamekeeper quickly hid away in one of his many pockets. Hagrid asked him to not tell anyone, and Harry nodded, even though he could not help but wonder what was inside the package that was so important.

Another wild cart ride, and they were back above ground, stepping back into the sunlight shining down on Diagon Alley. By then, Hagrid's face was looking positively green.

„I hate them carts at Gringotts." he huffed, breathing deeply through his nose. „If ye don' mind, I'd like to go Leaky's fer a drink while ye get yer uniform?"

Harry was quick to agree – he was rather worried that Hagrid would vomit all over him – and the giant lumbered off, swaying a little as he went. Harry was left alone in this foreign, wondrous place, feeling a little like Alice after she had gone down that rabbit hole.

Oh well, he thought as he made his way towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, hopefully nothing too dangerous or weird would happen while he was shopping for clothes.

* * *

Harry had barely taken two steps inside the store when Madam Malkin, who turned out to be a stout witch in mauve robes, was already bustling about him. He did not even get a chance to say anything, as she seemed to know exactly what he needed. All businesslike, she ushered him to stand on a footstool, slipped a long black robe over his head, and began measuring out the correct lenght.

Ah, well. That way, Harry at least did not have to worry about buying the wrong stuff by accident. Just for once, it would be nice to have proper clothes to wear to school and not getting mocked for his outfits. Now, if he could just do something about his glasses...

„Hello. Going to Hogwarts, too?" A voice interrupted Harry's musings. He snapped his eyes to the side. Standing there, also being outfitted in black Hogwarts robes, was a boy who seemed to be about Harry's age.

He had a thin, pointed face, strikingly pale skin, and blonde hair so light it was almost white. Also, he had an air of lazy confidence around him, as if he did not have a care in the world. Somehow, everything about him made Harry feel distinctively uneasy, from his carelessly arrogant posture to his firmly slicked back hair, so he only gave a carefully guarded nod in reply.

The other boy did not seem to notice Harry's discomfort (or maybe he just did not care), because he simply talked on. „Father's next door buying my books, and mother is down the streets looking at wands. After that, I'm going to drag them along to look at racing brooms. I don't see _why_ First Years are not allowed to have them. I think I'll just pester father until he buys me one, then I'm gonna smuggle it in somehow..."

Harry's uneasyness only grew the longer the conversation lasted. The pale boy sounded like a spoiled, arrogant brat who was used to getting everything he wanted. In fact, he strongly reminded him of his cousin Dudley... a more refined and less fat version of Dudley, maybe, but still, Harry found himself instinctively disliking the pointy faced git.

_And he certainly seems to love hearing himself talk_, Harry thought as the other droned on. He spoke in a slow drawl that sounded as bored as his general demanour.

„...do you even play Quidditch?"

„Uh, no?" Harry had no idea what the other was talking about. He didn't even know_ Quidditch_ was an actual word.

The other looked at him as if not playing Quidditch was somehow unimaginable. „Well, _I _do. Father says it would be a shame if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, he's right. Do you know what house you're going to be in?"

This time, Harry only shook his head, starting to feel like an idiot. Honestly, he would appreciate it if the other stopped talking about stuff Harry did not understand, thank you very much.

„Well, they say no one really knows beforehand, but I just _know_ I'll be in Slytherin; all our family has been there. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I would rather run away, don't you agree?"

Great, more strange words. For all Harry understood, the other might as well have been talking Chinese.

If it were anyone else, Harry would probably asked for an explanation. But with this arrogant boy who reminded him so much of Dudley, he thought it best to keep his mouth shut. He had a feeling he would only be sneered at for his ignorance, otherwise.

„Wow, look at that guy!" the pale boy said suddenly, gesturing to something outside the store's windows. Harry followed the other's lead and saw Hagrid standing outside, waiting for him.

„That's Hagrid. He's gamekeeper at Hogwarts." Harry said, eager to show that there were at least some things he knew.

The other raised a pale eyebrow. „Oh, _that's_ Hagrid? Father told me he's some kind of dirty savage living in a hut on the school grounds. Gets drunk every other day, tries to do magic and ends up setting his things on fire."

„I think he's brilliant." Harry said icily. He rather liked Hagrid, thank you very much. Sure, his wild looks took some getting used to, but behind all that, the giant was actually a very kind person. Plus, he had given Harry a reprieve from his hated relatives. He had even remembered Harry's birthday and brought him cake, something his own family had never done. If Harry had to choose between Hagrid and the arrogant boy next to him, he knew he would chose Hagrid in a heartbeat.

„Do you, now?" said boy narrowed his eyes at Harry, who felt uncomfortable at the other's unflinching gaze. His eyes were pale grey and piercing, boring into Harry as if he were a specimen to be studied, as if the other was looking for a weakness to exploit. „Why is he with you, anyways? Where are your parents?"

„They're dead." Harry replied curtly. He did not feel much like discussing his personal matters with that arrogant git. Honestly, he rather wished the other would shut up already.

„Oh, sorry." He did not sound sorry at all, just bored. „But they were _our_ kind, were they not?"

It took Harry a moment to figure out what the other was going on about. „They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean?"

The pale boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with Harry's answer. „I don't think they should even let the other kind into Hogwarts, wouldn't you say? They should keep it in the old wizarding families. The others, they are not like us. Imagine, some of those muggle-borns don't even know about Hogwarts until they get their letter. By the way, what's your last name?"

Harry was saved from having to answer when Madam Malkin declared he was finished. He was not at all sorry to step off the stool and leave this increasingly unpleasant conversation behind. If all, he was happy to be able to get out of the store and join Hagrid, who was waiting for him outside.

„See you at Hogwarts!" the other boy called after him.

The green-eyed boy did not answer, and he did not look back. He found that he strongly disliked the pointy faced boy and was not looking forwards to ever meeting him again. Perhaps, he could just try to avoid him once they were at Hogwarts.

However, he could not help replaying the conversation in his mind as his brain was buzzing with questions. Talking to the other had once again made him realize just how little he knew about this strange new world he had stepped into, and now, his thoughts would not stay quiet even as he followed Hagrid down the busy shopping steet.

Finally, Harry could not take it anymore. „Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

The giant looked taken aback. „Blimey, I keep forgettin' how little yer know. Yer don' even know 'bout Quidditch!"

„Way to make me feel better." Harry grumbled. At Hagrid's quizzical gaze, he elaborated: „There was this guy at Madam Malkin's, he kept talking about Hogwarts... and I didn't understand most of it."

Suddenly feeling angry and depressed, he kicked a stray pepple down the street. „He also said those raised by muggles shouldn't be allowed into Hogwarts."

Hagrid huffed angrily at that. „Codswallop." he said, „Don' yer let somethin' like that get yer down, ye hear me? Don' yer ever think yer don' belong at Hogwarts! They were all over ye at Leaky's, and if that guy's got wizardin' parents, he grew up learning yer name. Besides, that kind o' talk's just plain nonsense. Some o' the best witches an' wizards were the only ones in a long line o' muggles to have magic. Just look at yer mom! Look what she had fer a sister!"

He had a point, Harry admitted to himself. Already feeling much better, he asked. „So, what_ is _Quidditch?"

„It's our sport, Harry. Wizarding sport, very popular. It's played on broomsticks in the air, an' there's four balls... but it's kinda hard ter explain the rules."

„And what's Hufflepuff and Slytherin?"

„School houses." Hagrid replied. „There's four of 'em. Everyone says Hufflepuff's full o' losers, but..."

„I bet I'll be in Hufflepuff." Harry replied glumly. With how much he did not know about Hogwarts, he would possibly suck at school.

Again, Hagrid huffed. „Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin. There's not one witch or wizard who went bad that wasn' in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one of 'em."

Slightly taken aback, Harry stared at the man. „_You-Know-Who_ was at Hogwarts?"

Hagrid looked distinctly unhappy at the thought. „'T'was ages ago."

Harry said nothing as his mind wandered back to the boy at Madam Malkin's. With this new knowledge, he could not imagine how one could be so eager to join a house that supposedly produced dark wizards, including Voldemort... or You-Know-Who, as the wizarding world called him. The boy had said he would run if he got placed in Hufflepuff. Harry thought that he himself would rather run if they put him in Slytherin.

Shaking his head, Harry decided to put the pale boy from his mind. After all, he still had a lot of shopping to do – books, a cauldron, a _wand_ – and there were so many wondrous things to be discovered in Diagon Alley. He really did not want some git he definitely did not like drag him down again.

* * *

A pair of grey eyes followed Harry all the way as the raven-haired boy left Madam Malkin's. They belonged to the drawling, pointy-faced boy he had spoken to earlier. His name was Draco Malfoy, and, unbeknownst to Harry, he too was left pondering over their encounter.

There was something about this boy, with his brilliant green eyes and unruly jet-black hair, that had drawn Draco's attention, and what really bothered him was that he could not even tell why.

Certainly, he was not impressed with the boy's fashion sense... or rather, horrible lack thereof. Draco had barely been able to keep himself from grimacing at the other's ridiculously oversized clothes, or his atrociously messy mop of hair... or his nerdy glasses, which looked as if held together with _tape_, of all things! Really, had that guy ever looked into a mirror? Did he even know that mirrors existed? Draco knew he himself would not even be caught dead looking like _that_, but the other boy seemed like he did not care.

Maybe that was why Draco could not quite shake the other from his mind. The boy was so radically different from anything Draco was used to, so unlike the immaculate, refined purebloods the Malfoy heir had grown up with. Everything in his upbringing had been about keeping face and proper appearance, but the black-haired guy that had walked in seemed like the complete opposite of everything Draco had ever been taught. He knew he probably should despise the other for it. Instead, he somehow found himself fascinated.

And it was not as if proper attire was the only thing the other had seemed ignorant about. Not only had he been completely unfazed by Draco's boasting (a habit of his that his father would no doubt lecture him about. Which was a bit unfair, really. After all, his father was only too happy to flaunt their wealth and status in everyone's faces, so what was wrong about Draco doing the same thing?). No, the brunet also had seemed completely oblivious to most of the things they had talked about. Which was strange at least. Not knowing about school houses was one thing, but what wizarding boy in his right mind would not know about_ Quidditch_? And yet, Draco had seen the total lack of comprehension in the other's green eyes. He really was clueless.

For a moment, Draco entertained the thought that the other was just stupid... but no, he would have to be braindead to not know about Quidditch. Merlin, even _Crabbe _and_ Goyle_ knew, and everybody could tell they had about as much brainpower as a flobberworm.

Draco's second thought had been that they other boy was muggle-born. It certainly would explain his blatant and rather obvious ignorance of the wizarding world. But when Draco had asked, the other said his parents were wizardkind...

He had also said his parents were dead, making Draco wonder where the other was living. Surely not with that Hagrid oaf?_ That_ would certainly explain his total disregard for outward appearances. It also made Draco shudder at the mere thought of it. Surely, no one would force a child to live with such a savage?

All of this would have been so much easier if Draco knew the other boy's name. In hindsight, he could have kicked himself for not asking straight away. Knowing about what family the other came from would surely answer some of the questions that now plagued him.

„There you go, my dear. All finished." the voice of the clerk measuring out his robes startled Draco out of his thoughts, making him jump a little. Displeased with himself for showing such a reaction, Draco chose to glare at the assistant. Who was she to call him dear, anyway?

„About time." He said coldly, not sparing her another glance as he picked up his new school robes. Now, he just had to find his parents and get the rest of the stuff from his stupid school list. And then, he would finally convince his father to buy him a decent broom, Hogwarts regulations be damned.

Unfortunately for Draco, his father decided to be unreasonable, pointing out that he already did have a broom. And when Draco had in turn pointed out that this broom was just a Comet 3-60, completely outdated and nowhere near as good as, say, the new Nimbus 2000, his father had informed him that he would not get a new broom unless he was actually chosen to play Quidditch (which was damn near impossible for a First Year) or unless he earned it through 'outstanding performance' at school. Not willing to give up so quickly, Draco had turned to his mother instead. He should have known better, though... his mother had no love for flying at all, and she did not understand why her only son would need an even faster broom just so he could (in her clearly biased opinion) fall of it and die?

Of course, Draco had strongly protested her reasoning. He was much too skilled to ever fall off any broom, no matter how fast, and he certainly had no intention of plunging to his death. Honestly, it was nice to know that his mother loved him and cared for him, but did she really have to worry about the most ridiculous things?!

Upon their return to Malfoy manor (yes, the lived in a manor. After all, they were an ancient, wealthy, respectable pureblood family. Nothing less than a manor would ever do for them), Draco instantly retreated to his room to throw himself on his bed and bemoan his parent's _clearly_ ill-advised decision - he refused to call it sulking, because sulking was beneath him. It did not happen often that his parents refused one of his requests, but when it happened, he always found it a most unpleasant experience.

Sadly, that also meant he had to cancel his plans for the afternoon, which had been to zoom around the grounds on the new broomstick he never got. Staring at the ceiling with nothing better to do, his mind returned to the boy he had met earlier.

He just could not shake the feeling that there was something special about the other boy. He was an enigma, a mystery, full of secrets Draco intented on solving. He had, after all, always been a curious cat. He could never quite resist when he had a puzzle to figure out. All he had to do was to wait until he got to Hogwarts and meet the raven-haired boy again.

* * *

**That's it for chapter one. Hope it was not too terrible...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright folks, welcome back for chapter two.**

**Other than the new chapter, I've also added characters and the main pairing. I tried to do that straight away when I posted the first chapter, but for some reason, it did not work... :/**

**Now, Finding Courage is officially labelled Drarry. It is where I want the story to go, but please note there will be nothing serious of that kind until Year Five or so. I just figured I had better give all of you an early warning so I don't get my head bitten off later.**

**Warnings for this chapter? Well, possibly some foul languague, some Weasley bashing (I totally blame _Draco_ for that...), hurt feelings, and Draco being an arrogant prat. **

**And now, it is time for our lovely heroes to get onto the Hogwarts Express...**

* * *

Finding Courage: Chapter Two – A Friendship Rejected

Those last few weeks with the Dursleys passed agonizingly slowly. Harry was waiting eagerly for the day when he would depart for Hogwarts... not only because he was perfectly happy to finally – finally! - get away from his less than loving relatives, but also because he was about to attend a _magic school_. How cool was_ that_? He had already read through much of his school books, and they sounded fascinating. Harry could hardly wait to take one step further into this strange new world he had only recently been made aware of, the world that his parents had belonged to. Granted, he was also a little scared, if he was completely honest with himself, but that did not change the fact that he was dying to go. If he had his way, he would _never_ return to Privet Drive again.

The only good thing was that the Dursleys mostly left him alone now. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon happily choose to ignore his existence, which meant they at least did not order him around or made hurtful comments. As for Dudley, well, he was now mortally afraid of Harry and would run out of any room as soon as Harry entered. It was quite a change from before, when _Harry_ had been the one running away to avoid Dudley's beatings. Harry had a feeling that this was due to the fact that the first wizard he had met (and yes, even though Hagrid had admitted to Harry of having been expelled from school and not actually being allowed to use magic, Hagrid still counted as wizard) had left quite the impression. Dudley's fat rear still sported the pig tail Hagrid had hexed him with, after all. By all means, his cousin was probably afraid Harry might do something similar to him.

Not that Harry could have done something like that (not yet, anyways). In fact, the raven-haired boy would not even know how to... but he was not about to let _Dudley_ know that.

All in all, Harry's life had improved drastically. His aunt and uncle had had him move to Dudley's spare bedroom after his Hogwarts letters had started arriving (probably worried someone at Hogwarts might object to the living conditions they kept their nephew in), so he now had a room and an actual bed to himself instead of a cramped, spider-infested cupboard. And sure, being ignored or avoided by everyone in the house was a little depressing at times, but Harry was no longer alone: he now had Hedwig, a beautiful snowy owl Hagrid had bought him as a birthday gift. Already, she was proving to be much better company than the Dursleys had ever been.

Still, he could hardly wait for September to roll around. And then, the big day finally, finally came around, and Harry found himself standing inside King's Cross Station with a large trunk containing his school supplies and an equally large cage holding a disgruntled Hedwig.

That was when he realized he had a problem.

His ticket said „Hogwarts Express, 11 o' clock, plattfrom 9 ¾."

Harry could clearly see signs for both plattforms 9 and 10, but where on Earth was plattform 9 ¾? Unwilling to search around the entire station while dragging his heavy trunk and cage, he resorted to asking the nearest guard. However, the man in question only glared and asked if Harry thought that was funny, then lumbered off while unhelpfully grumbling to himself. It sounded an awful lot like „Plattform 9 ¾, my ass... the third one to ask me that today, honestly, those kids... bet that's some kinda stupid internet meme or somethin'..."

Harry stared after him, unable to help feeling distinctly lost.

That was when he met the Weasleys.

They were a family of six: a plump woman who was obviously the mother, a boy a few years older than Harry, a pair of identical twins, a cute girl probably a bit younger than Harry, and a tall, gangly boy who looked like he might be the same age as Harry. All of them had lots of freckles and flaming red hair. Harry first spotted them because they, like him, had a large cage with them. And inside the cage sat an owl... not a snowy one like Hedwig, but an owl nevertheless.

Harry could not think of a good reason any muggles would be walking around King's Cross with an owl, so he chanced a guess that maybe they were wizards, too. Intrigued, Harry found himself creeping closer to them. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard one of them casually comment on how the station was full of muggles.

Unlike Harry, they seemed to knowwhere they were going, so the brunet gathered his courage and adressed them: „Excuse me... could you tell me how to get to plattform 9 ¾?"

The red-haired matron turned and smiled warmly. „Oh, of course! Is this your first year at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She motioned at the youngest boy, who waved at Harry somewhat awkwardly while also scratching his nose.

It seemed that the entire trick about getting to the elusive plattform 9 ¾ was running straight into the barrier between plattforms 9 and 10. Harry was apprehensive, at first - the barrier certainly seemed very sturdy and solid. Surely, _running_ into it was an accident waiting to happen? But after seeing the oldest Weasley - Harry thought his name was Percy – and the twins disappear straight through the barrier without any trace of blood, screams or other signs of impeding disaster, Harry figured he might give it a try. Under the encouraging smiles of both Mrs. Weasley and Ron, and with the young girl cheering him on, the raven-haired boy charged at the barrier.

He closed his eyes at the last second, bracing for impact... but there was none. When he opened them again, he found himself standing on a rather crowded plattform. A sign hanging overhead clearly read: Plattform 9 ¾. Groups of students and relatives were milling around the plattform, many of them dragging large trunks, not unlike Harry's own. He spotted several more owls and a few cages and pet carriers; the one closest to Harry seemed to hold a _very_ angry cat, if the noises issuing from within were any indication.

„Gran, I lost my toad." Harry heard a boy moan. Other students were shouting to eachother, greeting their friends after being seperated over the holidays, or calling goodbyes to their sometimes tearful relatives. All in all, it could have been just another busy plattform at any random station... if not for the owls, the robes and other strange stuff.

Like the train that was already waiting. Harry could not help but shake his head and smile when he finally tore his gaze from the noisy crowd long enough to really look at it. It was not your usual everyday train... but that was probably to be expected; this was the wizarding world, after all. The carriages looked antiquated, but also as if they had been freshly painted in rich black and scarlet. And at the front of them was an actual _steam engine_, already puffing out smoke. Harry had never seen one of those except on TV and museum ads. Like the rest of the train, it was painted black and scarlet. It also had 'Hogwarts Express' written across its side, leaving no doubt that Harry had found the right train, at last.

That was one problem down.

But Harry quickly realized he had another when he tried to board: his school trunk seemed to weight a ton. How was he supposed to get that thing on the train? He tried getting in first and drag the trunk up after him and almost ended up falling from the train. Next, he tired lifting it while standing down on the platform, but that only ended with the heavy trunk nearly falling on top of him. Harry was about ready to scream in frustration when, once again, his rescue arrived in the form of red hair and a lot of freckles.

This time, it was the twins who suddenly turned up on either side of him, saying: „Need help?" in unison. Between the three of them, they managed to get the blasted thing safely onboard.

Harry thanked them and had just brushed his sweaty, wayward hair out of his face when he noticed the twins had frozen in place. Their eyes were glued to his face.

„Wait, are you...?" One of them burst out.

„_No way_!" his brother exclaimed.

„Am I what?" Harry started to feel uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. Why were they staring at him like that? It made him want to touch his face to check if it was still alright and he had not grown another nose or something.

„Harry Potter!" the twins chorused.

„Uh, yes, that's me.". Harry sighed inwardly, wondering if he would ever get used to being recognized everywhere he went, at last in the wizarding world. Wait, how did people recognize him, anyways? „How did you know?"

„Your scar." one of the twins said.

„It's rather famous in the wizarding world." the other explained. „but brother, I fear we're forgetting our manners."

The first twin now stared at his brother with a look of exagerated confusion written all over his freckled features. „We have_ manners_?"

His brother gave him a playful shove before turning to Harry. „Hi Harry, nice to meet you. I'm George Weasley, and that's my brother Fred."

„Hi." Fred grinned widely. Harry wondered whether he would ever be able to tell them apart.

After that exchange, the twins went back onto the plattform to say their goodbyes. Harry had no one to say goodbye to, himself – the Dursleys, probably motivated by their joy at getting rid of their nephew, had been kind enough to drop him off at the station, but they had driven off the moment Harry, his trunk and cage were out of their car – so he instead decided to find a seat.

He discovered an empty compartment where he stored his trunk and settled down into a seat by the window. Outside, he could see the Weasley family standing together, their voices floating in through the open window. Right now, the twins were busy teasing their oldest brother... who was apparently a prefect and a little too proud of that fact. Harry could not help but smile at watching the friendly banter. Of course, he knew that not all families were like the Dursleys, and that most families did not lock kids in a cupboard because they did not like them... but somehow, it was still different to actually _see_ it. There was no mistaking the warmth and affection the Weasley family held for eachother. And not just that; they had also shown kindness to Harry, a total stranger.

Hagrid had also been kind to him. In fact, a lot of the magical folk Harry had met so far had seemed like nice people (well, aside from Voldemort, but he was probably long gone and hopefully not coming back). It made the brunet dare to hope that his life in the wizarding world would not be as cold and harsh as life with the Dursleys had been...

The sound of the compartment door opening startled Harry out of his contemplations. He turned away from his window to find a group of three boys standing by the door. Two of them were strangers, broad and rather brutish looking, and he immediately thought of Dudley. Both of them were flanking a smaller, much thinner boy. That one, Harry recognized instantly. It was the pale, arrogant boy from Madam Malkin's.

Apparently, the other remembered Harry, too, because he narrowed his eyes and said: „Oh, it's _you_."

„Yeah, me." Harry said without much enthusiasm. Honestly, what kind of greeting was that? Besides, he was not looking forward to having to deal with the rather arrogant boy again. Hopefully, the other would just leave and find somewhere else to sit.

However, it seemed that the pale boy had other ideas. He turned to his two companions - who looked more like his bodyguards, the way they were towering on either side of him - and said: „Crabbe, Goyle – go ahead. I´ll join you later."

His voice was arrogant and haughty, and the words sounded like a command. One of the taller boys seemed about to complain, but the blond silenced him with a sharp glare. After that, both of them obediently trudged off, leaving their pale friend – were they friends? Harry was pretty sure friends did not boss the other around like that, but hey, what did Harry know of friendship?- to casually amble into Harry's compartment. There, he gracefully sunk into the seat opposite Harry, watching him with those piercing grey eyes.

„I do not believe we have been introduced the last time we met." the blond said somewhat formally. „I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry's first thought was that _Draco Malfoy_ was a rather unusual name. His own suddenly seemed perfectly ordinary in comparison.. Still, he dutifully answered: „I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

„_Oh_?" a look of surprise crossed the pale features, and the grey gaze became even more intent. „ It is true, then. People have been going on and on about Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts. So, it's you?"

„Yeah, me." Harry said again, and Malfoy unexpectedly smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, something Harry had not expected to see on that cold, haughty face.

Malfoy seemed about to say something when the compartment door slid open yet again, revealing none other than Ron Weasley.

„'Scuse me, but do you mind? Everywhere else is full." the red-head said.

„No, not at all." Harry answered.

„Neat." Ron flopped down in the seat next to Harry with a lot less grace than Malfoy. From the corner of his eyes, Harry could see said blond glaring daggers at the Weasley. It seemed as though Malfoy, for whatever reason, actually _did_ mind Ron being there.

Completely oblivious to the death glare levelled at him, Ron just stared at Harry. Then, he suddenly burst out: „Are you really Harry Potter?"

„Uh, yes?"

„Oh, okay." Ron scratched his head rather sheepishly. „I mean, Fred and George told us, but I thought they were just shitting me."

He was still staring. Harry had a bad feeling that he would have to get used to being stared at rather quickly... then, Ron spoke up again.

„Do you, uh, really have the... you know..." the red-head trailed off while pointing at his own forehead.

Thanks to his earlier experience with the twins, Harry had a pretty good idea what the other was getting at. Brushing thick strands of jet-black hair from his face, he revealed the lightning-shaped scar.

„Wicked!" the other said, and finally seemed to become aware that he had been staring at Harry all the time. He blushed slightly and averted his gaze. His eyes landed on Malfoy instead. „Uh, hi. Who are you?"

„Draco Malfoy." the blond answered haughtily.

Ron snorted at that.

Instantly, Malfoy's expression turned to pure ice. „Think my name is funny, do you?" the blond snapped. „Well, no need to ask who _you_ are. My father says all the Weasleys have red hair, lots of freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Grey eyes intently met Harry's. „You will soon find that some wizarding families are better that others, and you surely do not want to go making friends with the wrong kind." Malfoy spared a sideway glare at Ron, before meeting Harry's gaze again and holding out one pale hand. „I can help you with that."

Next to Harry, Ron spluttered indignantly while the brunet looked at the outstretched hand before looking up. Malfoy had an expectant expression on his face. Right then, he looked so arrogant and self-assured that Harry felt an instant wave of dislike sweep through him. He thought the Weasleys were very nice, thank you very much. He did not care that Malfoy clearly thought they were the wrong kind. Harry himself liked them a lot more than Malfoy, who was obviously _not_ a nice person.

Besides, who the hell was Malfoy to think he could decide whom Harry could be friends with?

„I believe I can tell who the wrong kind are for myself, thank you." the Boy-Who-Lived replied coolly.

A pale pink blush spread across Malfoy's high cheekbones, but his expression was unreadable, almost as if he was wearing a mask. He snatched his hand back.

„Pity. Well, your loss if you don't know what's good for you." With that, the pale boy stood and swept from the compartment, not without pausing to throw both of the others one last haughty glare before the door slid shut.

„Arrogant bastard." Ron muttered once the door was closed.

Harry caught himself staring after Malfoy. „What the hell was _that_ about...?" he mused aloud.

Shrugging, Ron moved to sit in the seat Malfoy had recently vacated. „Beats me. I heard about his family, though. Dad says they're a nasty piece of work. Apparently, they were big supporters of You-Know-Who back when he tried to take over."

„They were?"

„Yep. Guess sonny takes after them." Ron said, then scratched his head again. „Uhm, by the way, I'm Ron Weasley."

„Nice to meet you." Harry smiled. Already, he had the feeling that Ron was going to be a much better travelling companion than cold, stuck-up Malfoy.

With a few jolts, the train began moving. Outside, the youngest Weasley kid began to cry as she waved her brothers good-bye.

„Aw, Ginny, don't cry! We'll send you lots of owls!" Harry heard one of the twins shout.

„We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!" his twin brother yelled.

Harry thought he heard their mother shout a reprimand, but they were already to far away to hear it clearly. The train really was picking up speed now.

Finally, they were off to Hogwarts.

* * *

Stalking down the corridors of the jolting train, Draco could feel himself burn with shame and humiliation.

To think that everything had started out so perfectly! Draco had been walking through the nearly full train in search of an empty compartment, Crabbe and Goyle at his side, when he suddenly spied a black-haired boy in an otherwise empty compartment.

It was the same boy he had met weeks ago at Madam Malkin's, sitting there all by himself. That unruly mop of jet-black hair and those ugly glasses where unmistakable.

In the last few weeks, he had not been able to shake the mysterious raven-haired boy from his thoughts. It had been a constant nagging at the back of his mind, a puzzle he could not solve, like an itch he could not scratch. He had been eager to talk to the brunet again, to finally get an snswer to the questions that had been bothering him ever since they met, and now he finally had the chance.

If Draco were anyone else, he would probably have said something along the lines of „Hi, nice to meet you again.". But he was _Draco Malfoy_, and he had an image to uphold. And part of that was to not let his feelings show, not let anyone know he was actually glad to see the other again.

Instead, what Draco said after sliding open the compartment door was: „Oh, it's _you_."

„Yeah, me." The other did not sound too happy to see Draco again, but the blond choose to ignore that fact. He had to satisfy his curiosity, after all.

It seemed like a stroke of luck, to just come across the other like this. Draco felt no shame in sending Crabbe and Goyle ahead without him. Right then, he wanted to talk to the boy with the messy black hair, and he wanted to do it alone.

Making himself comfortable in the seat across from the other, Draco finally had a chance to find out who the other was. „I do not believe we have been introduced the last time we met. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." he said, drawing himself up proudly. Of course, he was proud of his name, proud of who he was – the heir to an ancient, venerable wizarding family – and he was not afraid to show it for the entire world to see.

But the other boy did not seem impressed by Draco's name, something that made the blond feel a flicker of disappointment. Only to have it replaced by surprise when the mystery boy said his name was Harry Potter. And suddenly, the blond was the one finding himself impressed.

Yes, Draco actually knew who Harry Potter was. Growing up in the wizarding world, he would have to be blind, deaf _and_ brain-dead not to.

After all, Harry Potter was _famous_. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had not only survived an attack by the most powerful Dark wizard of their time, but also had somehow managed to defeat said wizard, and all that despite having been only a baby at that time. He was the shining hero of the wizarding world, and many people admired and idolized him for breaking the hold the Dark Lord had had on their society.

Of course, Potter's name had always been taken with a grain of salt in the Malfoy household. Though his parents usually were reluctant of discussing their involvement, Draco was well aware that they had once followed the Dark Lord. Naturally, they had not been completely happy to see the powerful wizard fall.

That did not mean Draco was not excited at the prospect of meeting the great wizarding hero. Even the proud Malfoy heir had to admit that destroying the Dark Lord was impressive, and he wondered how the other had done it.

And to think that he had already been talking to him without realizing who he was! The blond had always known there was something special about the green-eyed boy, but he never expected him to be _Harry Potter_, of all people.

And now, he had Harry Potter all to himself, and he was determined not to let him slip away again.

Draco probably should have known that some things were simply too good to last.

He was just carefully considering what to say to Potter (he wanted to leave a good first impression, after all) when the compartment door was opened. A gangly boy with horrid ginger hair and lots of freckles poked his head in. „'Scuse me, but do you mind? Everywhere else is full."

From that point on, things started to go downhill fast.

Draco very much wanted to snap that yes, he actually _did_ mind. Did the idiot red-head not see that he was interrupting an important conversation? Draco very much wanted to talk to Potter, and he wanted to do it alone, so could ginger just go and impose himself on somebody else?

But Potter obviously had other ideas. „No, not at all." , the other said, leaving Draco to uselessly glare at the read-haired intruder as he sat down next to Potter and made himself right at home.

If looks could kill, the ginger monstrosity would be a smouldering heap at the floor. How _dare_ that oaf just walk in and steal Potter's attention away from Draco?

Unfortunally, the other remained blissfully ignorant at the disdain coming his way, as he was too busy staring at Potter. Then, he suddenly burst out; „Are you really Harry Potter?"

Potter seemed taken aback by that question. „Uh, yes?"

„Oh, okay. I mean, Fred and George told us, but I thought they were just shitting me." the red-head went on. He was still staring at Potter. Really, had no one told him that staring that openly at a person for extended periods of time was considered rude? And besides, he was completely ignoring Draco's presence. If _that_ was not rude, than the blond did not know what was.

Obviously, the freckled boy had no manners, because the next thing he did was to ask Potter about his famous scar, as if the boy was an exhibit at a zoo or something! And obviously, Potter had the patience of a saint, because he humored the other by brushing his unruly hair aside, revealing that lightning-shaped scar.

Of course, Draco had heard about the scar, too. It was distinctive, the clear proof that Potter actually had faced the Dark Lord and lived. And yet, Draco only allowed himself a short look, just to see if it was really there, before politely averting his gaze. He, after all, had been raised in a _proper_ Wizarding household, with proper manners, unlike that uncouth ginger idiot with his blatant staring.

„Wicked!" said idiot burst out, before he finally seemed to realize he had been staring at Potter for a good few minutes now. Blushing slightly, he tore his gaze away, and his eyes landed on Draco.

A look of surprise crossed the freckled face, as if the ginger monstrosity had only now become aware of the blond's presence. „Uh, hi. Who are you?"

Okay, Draco had changed his mind. He would actually have preferred if the ginger had continued to ignore him. Now, he had to fight down the urge to say something scathing, like letting the other know just how unwelcome he and his freckles were. But proper decorum had to be observed – after all, Draco had just established that he actually had manners where the red-head had none – so he forced his voice to remain neutral. „I'm Draco Malfoy."

And the red-head snorted.

Snorted! As if he thought Draco's perfectly fine, noble name was funny. The blond felt his blood beginning to boil. How dare this ugly ginger _commoner_ think the name Draco was so proud of was some sort of joke?!

Even though he was burning with indignation, Draco's reply was pure ice. „Think my name is funny, do you? Well, no need to ask who you are. My father says all the Weasleys have red hair, lots of freckles, and more children than they can afford."

The look of outrage on the red-head's face told him that his guess had been spot on. Draco's eyes narrowed, and he found himself disliking the other even more. He had heard about the Weasleys; his father had complained about them more than once. Like the Malfoys, they were an ancient wizarding family, but their behaviour was completely unacceptable. They were an awfully common, unciviliziced people, desperately poor, and worse, they readily associated themselves with muggles and mud-bloods. A disgrace to the name of wizard and to all the other pure-blood families, his father had called them. In Draco's not-so-humble opinion, they were nothing more than a bunch of losers.

The blond's gaze wandered to Potter, who was sitting next to the Weasley with a frown on his face. A frown that was, strangely enough, meant for Draco, as if the other disagreed with something _Draco_ had said. It made him wonder why Potter, the _hero_ of the wizarding world, tolerated the presence of such filth. Surely, Weasley was beneath him in every way. Did Potter not know that?

Maybe he did not. Draco had heard rumours that Potter was raised by muggles (really, _muggles_. Draco almost found himself pitiying the boy at the thought), so he probably did not know how things worked in the wizarding world. If so, Draco should probably enlighten him straight away. He would actually be doing Potter a favour by saving him the embarrassment of associating with scum like the Weasleys.

„You will soon find that some wizarding families are better that others, and you surely do not want to go making friends with the wrong kind." Meeting green eyes with his own, Draco held out his hand. Despite his outward calm, the blond could feel his nerves flutter. He was proud that both his hands and his voice did not shake in the slightest. „I can help you with that."

Those green eyes dropped to stare at his waiting hand, and Draco's anxiety ratcheted up a few notches. For one moment, he let himself hope the other would take it...

… then, Potter's eyes met his again, and Draco was shocked to see the thinly veiled disgust written all across the other's face. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat and cold. „I believe I can tell who the wrong kind are for myself, thank you."

_Rejected_. Draco could feel a hot wave of shame and humiliation rush through his body and quickly dropped his hand. His cheeks were burning, and he cursed his pale skin, knowing that a blush was sure to stain his features. At least, he knew that his face was set firmly in an unreadable mask that betrayed none of is inner turmoil. Or the fact that he had to actively fight down the urge to bolt from the compartment.

„Pity." He drawled, keeping his voice just as cold as Potter's had been. „Well, your loss if you don't know what's good for you." Having said that, Draco rose and made for the door with as much arrogance and confidence as he could muster. He even paused at the door, giving both of them one last glare for show. _Anything_ to hide just how desperately he wanted to run.

Even now, every cell in his body screamed at him to get away from the scene of his humiliation as quickly as possible, and then to probably hide away in shame for the next decade. But he was Draco Malfoy, and he had an image to uphold. Being seen running through the Hogwarts Express just would not do, so he forced himself to take measured steps, clinging to whatever was still left of his dignity.

Harry Potter had rejected him and his... well, Draco was not even really sure what exactly he had been offering – friendship, an alliance? - but he knew that he had offered _something_, and Potter had turned him down. Worse, he had chosen a _Weasley_ over him, how fucking humiliating could things get? And that expression of disgust that had graced the features of the Boy-Who-Lived... that _hurt_. It hurt deeply, and in such a way that Draco did not quite know what to make of it. It both scared and angered him.

As the train began to pull out of the station, Draco's anger rose higher, until it drowned out the mess of feelings inside him. And he let it, because it felt good. Anger was better than shame, better than this strange sense of hurt. He let his anger fill him, consume him.

Hero of the wizarding world aside, how dare Potter turn Draco down? Who was he to turn his back on the Malfoy heir and anything that he offered?

Perhaps Draco had been wrong to ever think Potter worthy of his attention. He would not make that mistake again, never offer his... friendship, support, whatever, to the Boy-Who-Lived again. If Potter did not want to associate himself with Draco, then fine. The other would come to regret it, the blond was sure of it.

He would _make sure_ Potter regretted it.

But for now, he would look for Crabbe and Goyle. He would surround himself with people who actually appreciated his presence, get comfortable, and let the train take him to Hogwarts. He could deal with Potter at a later date.

Yes, that sounded like a plan.

* * *

**Ouch. Looks like poor Draco got his feelings hurt... not that he would admit to having them in the first place. In Harry's defense, Draco _was_ being a prat. **

**Do not worry, I won't let him be an arrogant, racist bastard forver. He will need time to come around, though.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, sorry for the delay. Real Life has been kicking me around, and this chapter insisted on being difficult. Plus, I've gotten some pretty negative reviews (seems like the only people who review are those who hated my story...), and it took me some time to work up the courage to start writing again...**

**The quote below and the capter title are borrowed from the song „O Children" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. You know, the one Harry and Hermione dance to in DH Part One. I thought it was oddly fitting here.**

* * *

„_Hey little train, we're all jumping on  
__ The train that goes to the Kingdom  
We're happy, Ma, we're having fun  
And the train ain't even left the station_

_ Hey little train, wait for me!  
I once was blind but now I see  
__ Have you left a seat for me?  
__ Is that such a stretch of the imagination?_

_Hey little train, wait for me!  
I was held in chains, but now I'm free  
I'm hanging in there, don't you see  
__In this process of elimination_

_Hey little train, we're all jumping on  
__The train that goes to the Kingdom  
We're happy, Ma, we're having fun  
__It's beyond my wildest expectation"_

_~ Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, „O Children"_

* * *

Finding Courage: Chapter Three: The Train That Goes To The Kingdom

Outside the windows, London began to fly by faster and faster. Soon, they were out of the city proper and steaming through the suburbs.

Harry briefly wondered what the muggles thought if the saw the Hogwarts Express passing by. Surely, a black-and-scarlet steam engine was unusual enough these days to draw quite a lot of attention?

Maybe it was enchanted to be invisible. Or charmed to look like a regular, state of the art train. Magic could do that, right? Not that Harry would know.

The brunet finally tore his eyes from the view outside. Ron was still watching him as though Harry was the most interesting being in the entire world. For once, though, Harry did not mind being stared at.

If he was honest with himself, he found Ron rather fascinating, too. The red-head was not the first wizarding boy his age Harry met. That distinction, unfortunately, went to Malfoy. But Ron was the first wizarding boy that Harry felt comfortable talking with. He certainly seemed so much more approachable that the cold, haughty blond.

Aside from his red-hair and freckled skin, Ron also had blue eyes. He was taller than Harry and had rather large hands and feet.

Also, something seemed to be moving inside the other boy's sweater. Harry could not help but stare.

„Oh, that's just Scabbers." The read-head had noticed Harry's gaze.

From one of his pockets, he drew a rather ruffled looking rat. „Pathetic, isn't he? He used to be Percy's, but mom and dad bought him an owl when he was nominated prefect, so yeah, Scabbers is mine now."

„Are all your family wizards?" Harry asked. He could not help but feel curious. Was growing up in the wizarding world much different from growing up as a muggle? And if so, how was it different?

Ron shrugged. „Yeah, I guess. As far as I'm aware, at least. I heard you grew up with muggles? How are they?"

„Horrible... well, not all of them. My aunt, uncle and cousin are, though. They don't like magic, much." Harry answered, frowning at the thought of the Dursleys.

„I wish I had three wizarding brothers, too." the brunet added wistfully.

For some reason, this made Ron frown. „Five. Bill and Charlie already graduated."

„Five, then. Still sounds better than my family, though." Harry interjected.

„Don't be so sure of that. With five brothers, I've got lots of expectations I have to live up to. Also, that many older brothers means you never get anything new. I have Percy's old rat, Bill's robes, and Charlie's old wand." Ron said a bit glumly.

He showed Harry a battered wand. „The unicorn hair is almost coming out. But mom and dad, they can't afford to... er, well. It still works fine, though."

After that, he kept his eyes cast downward, almost as if ashamed. Probably because he thought he had revealed too much. Or maybe he felt embarassed at his family's inability to pay for a new wand?

Maybe it was both. Harry could tell that money was a bit of a sore spot for the Weasleys. Hoping to re-assure Ron somewhat, he began sharing some of his own home life... such as the fact that he, too, had to make do with nothing but old stuff of Dudley's.

When Ron asked him why, Harry shrugged. Of course, he knew that _money_ had never been an issue with the Dursleys. They had more than enough of it. They just did not want to spent it on _Harry_.

„Like I said, they don't like magic very much. Or _me_, for that matter." Harry said vaguely. He did not really feel like going into details of just how much his relatives did not like him.

He did not mention the cupboard under the stairs. Or how the Dursleys liked to punish Harry by not giving him food. Because Ron obviously came from a perfectly loving, normal family that would never even _dream_ of doing such things, and Harry did not want to end up traumatizing him.

The other was still watching him with a thoughtful expression, so Harry hurried on: „They never told me I was a wizard, either. Until recently, I didn't even know anything about, you know, my parents and Voldemort."

At the mention of Voldemort's name, Ron gasped and paled considerably. Harry sighed inwardly and made a mental note _not_ to call the dark wizard by his name.

Frankly, he thought the whole You-Know-Who business was rather cumbersome. Would it not be easier to just call him Voldemort? Then again, other wizards were apparently terrified of that name, and Hary might do better if he remembered this. He did _not_ want to be responsible for someone dying of a heart attack or something just because he foolishly uttered Voldemort's... _no, You-Know-Who's, damn it!_ \- name.

After that, the conversation went back to Ron's family. It was obvious just how much Ron loved his brothers, but also how much he was worried at being overshadowed by them. Some of them had been quite sucessfull, after all, like Percy the prefect. Or Charlie the Quidditch captain, not to mention Bill, the head boy.

Harry remembered that Bill and Charlie had already graduated from Hogwarts, and he wondered what they were doing now.

„Oh, Charlie's working with dragons in Romania. And Bill is a curse-breaker for Gringotts." Ron answered readily.

Then, the red-head seemed to remember something. „Speaking of Gringotts... did'ya hear someone tried to break in? It's been all over the Daily Prophet."

„Uh, no, I didn't know. Isn't breaking into Gringotts, like, really dangerous? Hagrid said they've got dragons guarding the vaults and stuff." Harry said, recalling what the giant had had told him. He already knew the Daily Prophet was a popular wizarding newspaper.

„Hagrid? You mean _Rubeus Hagrid_, the Hogwarts game keeper?" Ron cut in.

Harry nodded in reply.

Ron went on to thoughtfully scratching his head. „I heard about Gringotts and the dragons, too. Tried to grill Bill about whether it's true once, but he didn't want to tell me. Something about Gringotts employees being sworn to secrecy or something. Anyway, whoever tries to break in there must be _insane_. "

Harry could not help but agree.

„Besides, how do you know Hagrid?"

„Er, well. My, uh, relatives tried to keep me from getting my Hogwarts letter, so Hagrid came to make sure I read it. How come you know him?" Harry said, trying to steer the conversation away from the Dursleys once more. He had finally gotten away from them, he did not want to waste his time thinking about them more than he absolutely had to.

„My brothers told me about him. Seems like he is alright." Ron answered.

Afterwards, their conversation turned away from their home lives. Instead, they discussed Hogwarts and whatever was awaiting them there.

„My entire family has been in Gryffindor for ages. I don't want to imagine what they'll say if I end up somewhere else. Guess Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad – but what if I ended up in Slytherin?" Ron said. He looked seriously troubled at that thought.

Harry made a sympathetic noise. He had already established that he did not want be in Slytherin, either.

Eventually, Harry found that he trusted Ron enough to reveal some of his own worries. „I bet I'm gonna be crap at school. There's just so much I don't know. About magic, I mean. And the wizarding world in general."

That thought was a somewhat depressing one. It was also one that had bothered Harry for quite some time now.

However, Ron instantly protested. „That's bullshit, mate. There's lots of students from muggle families, and they all catch up quickly. And so will you. Just wait."

He gave Harry an encouraging smile, and the raven-haired boy smiled right back. Some of his doubts still lingered, but Ron's words already made him feel a little better.

Harry found he was glad to have met the red-head. He shuddered to think what Malfoy would have said if Harry had confided in him instead. What if he told the blond that his ignorance of the magical world was making him feel insecure?

In all likelihood, Malfoy would have been nowhere near as supportive as Ron. After all, the blond believed that students from a muggle background did not belong at Hogwarts in the first place. He would probably say something along the lines of: „Well, that's too bad, why don't you just go back home if you don't feel up to living in the wizarding world?!"

No, Harry was glad that it was Ron sitting across from him now, not Malfoy.

The day went on, and the train never stopped. They had already left London far behind and were now steaming through rolling hillsides.

Several people stopped by their compartment during the ride.

First were they Weasley twins, wanting to make sure that their 'baby brother was doing okay.' Ron flashed a rather rude gesture at them, one that he probably would never use in their mother's presence.

Naturally, the twins only laughed. „Well, now that we know Ron is still alive, we better get back to our mates." Fred – or was it George? - joked.

The other twin agreed. „By the way, Lee Jordan's got a_ huge_ tarantula. Wanna come check it out?"

Ron paled at that, muttering something that sounded vaguely like „I don't like spiders." Faced with the red-head's obvious distress, Harry politely declined the twins' offer.

Some time later, Ron started talking about Quidditch. Like Malfoy and Hagrid, the red-head was astonished to learn that Harry had never heard of Quidditch before. He immediately launched into an eager explanation, describing the different balls and player positions.

Harry did not understand all of it, but he did have to admit Quidditch was starting to sound quite interesting, indeed.

Ron was just trying to explain the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open once more. This time, their visitor was an old witch selling snacks from a trolley. „Want anything, my dears?"

Ron mumbled something about sandwiches and remained seated. Harry, however, got up. He was not particularly surprised to find that the trolley did not offer mars bars or anything else he knew from the muggle world.

Instead, Harry just bought a little bit of everything, feeling strangely triumphant as he did so. Of course, the Dursleys had never given Harry any money of his own, so he had never been able to buy sweets for himself before. But now, he had money, and the Dursleys were far, far away, and no one was going to stop him from buying any number of sweets he desired.

Even better, he now had a friend to share them with, something he did not have before, either. And so, Harry and Ron happily worked their way through the pile of sweets together. Which was probably a good thing, too, because Ron was able to offer advice on the many strange sweets that Harry had never even heard of before.

Like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. „Be careful with them – they really mean _every_ flavor. You get some of the good ones, like chocolate or strawberry. But some are pretty disgusting, too... like liver and spinach and other nasty stuff." Ron warned with a frown. „George swears he got a bogey flavored one once. Of course, it's _George_, so he may have been kidding, but still..."

Harry shot Ron an alarmed look and let the package of Every Flavor Beans drop back onto the seat cushion. Even if they 'bogey flavor' _was_ a joke (which, considering what Harry had seen of the twins so far, was definitely a possibility), the other stuff sounded bad enough.

Apparently, wizarding sweets had to be regarded with caution. Harry picked up a Chocolate Frog instead and was just about to unwrap it when a truly horrible thought struck.

„Erm, those aren't _real_ frogs, are they...?" the raven-haired boy asked. The wizarding world was devious enough to devise sweets that _might_ taste of bogey, after all. Surely, they were not crazy enough to dip actual frogs into chocolate for a snack...?

„Nope, it's just a spell." Ron said, to Harry's instant relief. „But it's the card you really want. Those have cards of famous witches and wizards inside. To, er, collect, you know?"

The Boy-Who-Lived nodded in understanding. That concept, he was familiar with. There were muggle sweets that held similar collectibles, usually with pictures of famous athletes.

Somewhat re-assured, he finally unwrapped his frog, who promptly croaked before jumping out of an open window. Harry shrugged and decided to chalk it up to 'just one of those strange things that happened in the wizarding world' – a category that he felt would expand significantly in times to come.

He looked at the card instead. It showed a picture of an old, grandfatherly man with long white hair and an equally long, white beard. Behind half-moon spectacles, alert blue eyes twinkled kindly. Written beneath him was the name Albus Dumbledore.

Surprisingly enough, that name sounded familiar. Harry frowned for a moment before remembering.

Albus Dumbledore was the Hogwarts headmaster.

Flipping the card over, Harry read: „Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling."

Harry stared at the writing for a few moments, before flipping the card back over. So, the Hogwarts headmaster had defeated a dark wizard, too. Harry wondered how he had done it and who this Grindelwald was.

Dumbledore looked up at him and smiled kindly, his gently twinkling eyes seemingly at odds with the powerful wizard he obviously was. Still, despite the fact that the picture was _moving (_another one of those strange wizarding things, no doubt_)_, it was only a picture, right? Harry doubted it could actually give answer to any of his questions.

But Ron was from a wizarding family. Maybe he had heard something, especially if Dumbledore was indeed famous for defeating this 'dark wizard'.

„Ron." asked Harry slowly. „Do you know anything about a Grindelwald?"

Ron, who had been happily munching on a pumpkin pastry, looked up to give the raven-haired boy a confused look. „Uh, who?"

„Grindelwald." Harry indicated the card. „This says he was a dark wizard and Dumbledore defeated him."

„Oh, _that_." Ron's face scrunched up in thought. „I only know he was some pretty bad guy who tried to take over decades ago. Sort of like You-Know-Who, you know?"

Harry looked at him in alarm. „You mean, there are _others_ like Vol... er, You-Know-Who?"

„Well, yeah. But, like I said, Grindelwald was ages ago, before You-Know-Who turned up. And Dumbledore took him down, so he can't hurt anyone these days." A thought seemed to cross Ron's face at that. „Sorta like you defeated You-Know-Who, I think."

The other boy nodded. That thought had occured to him, as well. He and the Hogwarts headmaster had both defeated a powerful dark wizard, and Harry could not help but feel oddly connected to the older wizard for it. Which was probably quite silly, since Dumbledore was_ much_ older, much more powerful and much more experienced than Harry. And Dumbledore had probably taken Grindelwald down on purpose, whereas Harry could not explain (or even remember) what he had done to deafeat Voldemort. But still... „So, did Dumbledore kill him?"

„Erm, I don't think so." the red-head snapped his fingers."Wait, I remember now. Dumbledore and Grindelwald had some big duel, which Dumbledore won. But he didn't kill him... I think he's still imprisoned somewhere."

„Hm." Harry nodded absent-mindedly, before putting Dumbledore's card aside and reaching for the next chocolate frog.

Night started to fall. Harry had finally worked up the courage to try out the Every Flavor Beans and was pleased to say the worst things he had gotten were grass and pepper instead of bogey or something equally gross. He was chewing on the last bean (a cherry flavored one, thank god) when the compartment door opened.

A round-faced boy with a mournful look on his face poked his head in to ask if they had seen his missing toad. He looked like he was about to break into tears at any moment, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy. However, seeing as neither he nor Ron had even caught a glimpse of a toad so far, there was nothing they could do to help him.

„Trevor!" the boy wailed unhappily, „He always keeps getting away from me..."

He trudged off to continue his search. Ron looked after him with a distinct look of pity on his face.

„Poor bloke. Of course, if I'd brought a toad, I'd be happy to get rid of it. They are completely out of fashion..." he interrupted himself, scratching through the red hair on the back of his head. „Of couse, I brought Scabbers instead, so I suppose I shouldn't be the one to talk."

Next to him, Scabbers the rat was nosing through discarded food wrappers, looking for leftovers. Ron cast his pet a look that was a strange mix of disgust and affection. „George taught me a spell to turn him yellow. Might make him a bit more interesting, you know?"

The red-head held out his battered wand. „Want to see?"

Harry nodded eagerly. He was not sure if he would _ever_ tire of seeing more magic.

Ron pointed his wand and cleared his throat... but was interrupted when the door slid open once more.

This time, it was a girl about their age. Already wearing her new Hogwarts robes, she had a rather bushy head of curly brown hair and pretty large front teeth.

„Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one." She said in a rather bossy voice. Before Harry or Ron could even try to answer her question, her eyes fixed on the wand Ron held in his hand.

„Oh, you're doing magic?" Dropping down in the seat next to Harry, she demanded: „Well, let's see, then."

Ron cast her an unhappy glance, clearly uneasy now that he had one more spectator. Still, he cleared his throat once more and spoke: „Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow – turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"

There was a small spark of light from the tip of his wand, and Scabbers squeaked indignantly. Apart from that, nothing happened. The rat still was as grey and mangy as it had been before.

„Are you sure that's a real spell? Because obviously, it's not very good." the girl said rather arrogantly. „See, I tried a few simple spells myself, and they all worked for me."

Ignoring the rather nasty looks Ron was giving her, she turned her focus on Harry. Suddenly, she had her own wand up and pointed at the brunet's face. Harry flinched back instintively, but the young witch was not deterred. „For example: _Oculus Reparo_!"

An odd snapping sound came from Harry's glasses. Plucking them off his face, he feared for the worst... but his glasses were perfectly fine. In fact, they were better than they had before. All the tape haphazardly holding together the frame was gone, and Harry could see that his glasses had magically repaired themselves.

„See, that's better, isn't it?" the brown-eyed witch looked rather pleased with herself as she stashed her wand away. „Of course, Hogwarts is supposed to be the best wizarding school in the world, so I've been practising as much as I could. I've memorized all our school books, too. I just hope it's enough."

Harry – now with his glasses back on – shared a rather shocked and surprised look with Ron. Surely, Harry had read through their school books simply because he was curious about the things that would be taught at a magic school... but _memorizing_ them? Seriously?

But the bushy-haired girl simply talked on without even taking a breath. „Both of my parents are dentists, so I was really excited when I got my letter. Oh, by the way, I'm Hermione Granger, who are you?"

„I'm Harry Potter." the raven-haired boy introduced himseld for the fourth time that day. Hermione Granger's eyes went wide.

„Oh, you are? Of course, I know everything about you. I've read a couple of other books for background info, and you are mentioned in quite a few of them."

Harry just made a non-committal noise. What was he supposed to say to something like that... to people who thought they knew him just because of something they had been told or read in a book? Really, this whole being a wizarding celebrity business was starting to get a bit old.

When he did not say anything, Hermione turned her attention towards Ron. „And you are?"

„Won Weashley." Ron's voice came out a bit garbled, because he had just stuffed a rather large bite of cauldron cake into his mouth.

„Pleasure." Hermione sounded rather disgusted. Rising out of her seat, she swept her glance over both of them. „You might want to put on your uniforms. I expect we'll arrive at Hogwarts soon."

With that, she made to leave, but turned in her tracks to cast one last disapproving glance at Ron. „Oh, and you have dirt on your nose, did you know?"

„She's bloody_ mental_!" Ron hissed once she was gone, vigorously rubbing at his nose. „Completely deranged, that one! Whatever house I'm gonna be in, I hope it's not the same as hers."

„Not even if that means you're gonna be in Slytherin?" Harry joked.

Ron made a face at him. „Okay, maybe not that. _Anything_ but Slytherin!"

* * *

Draco was about ready to curse Crabbe and Goyle – why could they not have chosen a compartment that did not require Draco to search half the train? Clearly, that was very selfish of them! – when he finally spotted them, along with a lot of other familiar faces.

The blond felt a smirk stealing across his features. The old pure-blood families always tended to flock together. As such, Draco already knew most of the pure-blood kids his age, and he was not surprised to find Crabbe and Goyle surrounded by them.

Already, Draco could feel a sense of relief wash over him. He would never have admitted it out loud, of course, but being with those of his own social circle helped to ease his mind. This was where he belonged... with the other pure-bloods, each one of them more respectable and more worthy of Draco's presence than the Weasley filth would ever be. Or Potter, who was clearly a monumental idiot not to realize how superior Draco really was.

Spread out across two compartments, the First Year pure-bloods had left the doors open so they could talk across them. As Draco approached, Vincent Crabbe just happened to be looking up and catch sight of the blond.

„You're back, Draco!" he called out loudly, instantly drawing everyone's eyes towards the Malfoy heir.

Well, _almost_ everyones' eyes. Millicent Bulstrode never once looked up or otherwise recognized Draco's presence. Between fussing over the cat in her lap and Goyle's persistent attempts to catch her attention, it seemed she was a bit too pre-occupied to even notice Draco's presence.

Oh well, that was not that much of a disappointment. Draco could never understand what Greg even saw in her. In Draco's (not so) humble opinion, Millicent looked like she was at least half troll, and unfortunately, her intelligence fitted that picture quite nicely. But then again, the same could be said of Gregory Goyle, so maybe the two of them did actually make a good match.

Not that Draco actually disliked Goyle. Or Crabbe, for that matter. After all, they were among Draco's oldest friends... as far as friendships went in pure-blood circles, of course. They were nothing but loyal to Draco, as well as duely obedient considering the blond's clearly superior status and intelligence. Granted, Draco rather enjoyed bossing them around – and yet, sometimes, he found himself wishing their heads were not quite so _empty_.

The both of them actually looked extraordinarily happy and, dare he say it, _relieved_ to see him again. Not that much of a surprise when he thought about it; those two birdbrains were probably utterly lost without Draco to guide them. It left the blond feeling the tiniest (barely there, really) flicker of guilt for ditching them earlier.

He distracted himself with returning the greetings of the other pure-bloods. Daphne Greengrass just said a quick hello before burying her head in her book. Draco did not know her that well – though pure-bloods, the Greengrasses did not quite frequent the same social circles as the Malfoys – but what little he knew of her indicated she was a quiet girl who mostly kept to herself.

Theodore Nott, on the other hand, smirked at Draco. „About time you turned up. Was starting to think you'd gotten lost somewhere, you know."

„You wish." the blond drawled airily, sinking into the seat opposite Nott's. He was just about to delve into conversation when...

„Not so fast there, Draco Malfoy!" A voice shrilled, and Draco sighed inwardly.

Pansy Parkinson was a rather noisy girl, with a face like a pug and an almost unhealthy obsession for gossip. Draco usually did not mind – _much_ – because he already knew Pansy's uncanny ability to sniff out other people's secrets might prove to be very useful one day. It was just that her gushing could be a bit much at times, and Draco occasionally was struck with the sudden urge to hex her mouth shut.

Like now, for example. Not that she had said that much (yet), but she was watching him like a hawk. It gave Draco the uneasy feeling that he was about to become the center of the gossip mill himself.

To make matters worse, she was sitting with _Blaise Zabini_, of all people. He was a dark-skinned and rather handsome boy whose mother was pretty famous – well, _in_famous, actually – for her matrimonial exploits.

That was to say, Madam Zabini had, in quick succession, managed to enter marriage with several old and rather wealthy pure-blooded men. All of them would die shorty afterwards, leaving all their wordly posessions to her. Of course, there were speculations that her husbands' repeated misfortune was not just due to some sad coincidence; that would have been a bit _too_ convenient for her, really. There were tons of rumours flying around that Madam Zabini was somehow murdering her husbands, but alas, no one was ever able to prove anything. And so, the other pure-bloods kept up appearances, smiling at her in public and whispering behind her back, with many secretly despising or admiring her for her deviousness.

As for her son, Blaise was devastatingly clever, and also as cunning and sly as any Slytherin could ever be. On top of that, he loved a good rumour almost as much as Pansy did. And right now, he was watching Draco just as avidly.

An involuntary shudder ran down the blond's spine, and he was glad the infamous Malfoy mask was holding fast, hiding the apprehension he was feeling. Surely, having the two nosiest and most gossip-prone people he knew look at him like_ that_ could mean nothing good.

Pansy did not disappoint. „You know, Draco darling, Gregory here told us something I find quite interesting. Apparently, you ditched him and Vince earlier to talk to some other guy. You seemed quite eager to be left alone with whoever it was, in fact."

On cue, Draco's head spun around to glare at Goyle – how dare that idiot fool throw him to those gossip-hungry wolves like that? Greg blushed at his icy stare and, duely intimidated, dropped his own gaze to his lap.

If only he could scare off Pansy that easily. „Well? Who was that mystery boy that caught your attention so easily?" the witch demanded, pinning Draco with her own steely stare.

Well, if she really wanted to know that badly, then fine. Draco would tell her. „Harry Potter."

Draco would have been lying if he denied that the gasps and looks of shock on everyone's faces did fill him with a sense of satisfaction. Especially Pansy's, who was now gaping at him like a stranded goldfish.

_Yes, I've met the famous Harry Potter before any of you did_, Draco thought smugly. _Deal with it._

Blaise was quickest to find his voice again. „Harry Potter? _The_ Harry Potter?"

Draco rolled his eyes at him. Honestly, he knew Blaise was more intelligant than to ask such a stupid question. „You idiot, how many Harry Potters so you think there are? Of course, it was_ him_."

By then, Pansy had recovered from her previos fish-like state... and Draco began to wish he had kept his mouth shut when she rubbed her hands together in glee. Oh boy, he would be lucky if he ever heard the end of it.

„Harry Potter, you say? Oh, this is too good... well? How was he? Is he really as great and powerful as everyone claims? What did he say? Did you see his scar? _Details_, Draco!"

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Of course, that was everything people thought about... famous Potter and his stupid famous scar. „He was nothing special, really." the blond answered dismissively.

Pansy's eyes widened almost comically. „Nothing special? But he's _Harry Potter_!"

This time, Draco did roll his eyes. „So what? He's a scrawny git with atrocious hair, horrible glasses and no sense of fashion or style whatsoever. And he certainly isn't great or anything – he's just an ordinary guy, and an awfully common one at that. Like I said, nothing special."

That at last served to temporarily shut Pansy up as she frowned, trying to digest the new information.

„But he did defeat the Dark Lord, did he not?" Daphne – surprisingly enough – spoke up in a quiet voice.

„Whatever." Draco shrugged at her. „I honestly don't know how he did that. Guess he was just lucky or something."

„But didn't you at least try to talk to him?" Blaise Zabini insisted.

„Not really, no. Sadly enough, he seemed to prefer the company of a Weasley over mine." It took all of Draco's self-control to make sure his voice came out sounding neutral rather than petulant or – heaven forbid – whiny. Because being rejected in favour of a Weasley still smarted. Draco almost hated himself for this weakness. He certainly hated Potter for making him feel this way.

Once again, gasps and surprised exclamations echoed all around him. Pansy actually slapped her hands over her mouth in shock. It was as though Draco had said something blasphemous.

„Seriously, Draco – a _Weasley_?" Theodore Nott sounded as if he could not quite believe it. He grimaced at Draco's solemn nodd. „Okay, that's gross."

Once she had recovered from her shock, Pansy nodded vigorously. „It is. Why would _Harry Potter_ want to hang around that blood-traitor filth? Why would anyone in their right mind want to do that?"

„I'm not sure about anyone..." Blaise offered thoughtfully. „As for Potter, you must have heard the rumours of him growing up with muggles. Maybe he didn't know better?"

„Oh, yes, I remember! The poor boy..." Pansy cooed. „Draco, why didn't you at least try to warn him not to hang out with that plebeian scum?"

Wishing Pansy would shut up already, Draco shook his head ruefully. „I did indeed try. Unfortunately, Potter choose to refuse my help."

„So he really shot you down for a Weasley? _Ouch_. That's rough, mate." Blaise clucked his tongue, and Draco wanted to strangle him. Really, did Blaise have to be so perceptive? And Draco did not need anyone's pity, anyways.

„Still, this is rather unfortunate. Potter is quite famous, after all. Associating with him might have some benefits, if you catch my drift." Pansy said and frowned. „Draco, I _can't_ believe you just let him slip through your fingers!"

„Excuse me? I did not 'let Potter slip through' my fingers!" Draco spat at her, his temper flaring up at last. The whole experience had already been humiliating enough, he did not need Pansy to rub it in. „Besides, I already told you, he's nothing special. He probably doesn't deserve my attention any more than Weasley does."

A sudden thought had Draco smirking cruelly. „In fact, I think he and Weasley are both losers, so they kind off deseve each other."

Pansy still looked like she wanted to argue. After all, Potter was bound to be the center of attention once they got to Hogwarts, being the Boy-Who-Lived and so on. The bitch probably was afraid she would loose first-hand access to all that juicy gossip by not being able to hang around Potter.

Fortunately, Nott cut her off. „Just let it go, Pans. It's hardly Draco's fault if Potter truly is blind enough to surround himself with the likes of Weasley."

Good, reliable Theo, pointing out the obvious and understanding just how much of a mistake Potter was making by turning Draco away. The blond could have hugged the other for it, but that would be much too sappy. Horribly, Hufflepuff level sappy, actually, and such an action was far beneath Draco, anyway. He settled for smirking at Nott instead.

Theodore Nott smirked right back as he dug a wooden box from his trunk. „Now, Draco. Fancy a game of chess?"

Several rounds later (most of which were won by Draco), the blond felt much better. Yes, _this _was were Draco belonged... with the other pure-blood First Years, with people like himself, people who had some actual breeding and manners. People who actually knew how to appreciate his presence and knew to respect him and his family.

Who needed idiots like Weasley and Potter, anyways?

* * *

**Sorry again for the delay. And sorry if it's rather long and probably boring, but I feel like this chapter is important, because it illuminates the different backgrounds of Harry, Ron and Draco. It gives you an idea where they are coming from and also about some of the obstacles Draco will find himself facing very soon.**

**Up next time: the sorting ceremony, a.k.a. Draco gets a really bad surprise that will turn his life upside down.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone!**

**Before we get started, I want to say a huge thank you to everybody who favorited or put this story on alert, and especially to those lovely people who encouraged me to keep writing. It's good to know that not everyone out there hates my story. So, big hugs for everyone and fifty points to a house of your choice (even if it is Slytherin...)**

**Annnd now, we may begin! Buckle up, this chapter is a long one!**

* * *

„_My expectations were my home  
__But when the mirror cracks there's so much left undone"_

_~ Xandria, „When The Mirror Cracks"_

* * *

Finding Courage: Chapter Four – When The Mirror Cracks

Night had fallen when the Hogwarts Express finally pulled to a stop. The steady noise of the rocking train faded away, to be replaced by the sounds of students standing to stretch their legs after the long journey, of people gathering their things and milling around the corridors.

There was a sudden rush towards the exits as soon as the doors opened. Young adults and kids spilled onto the platform where they formed a rather noisy crowd, most of them excited to be back for another year at Hogwarts. Or, in the case of the current First Years, eager to finally get to set foot into the wizarding school for the first time.

As for Draco, well, he would have been lying if he denied that he was a tiny bit excited himself. Finally, after all those years of hearing about Hogwarts, he was almost there, at last. It was another step towards taking his place at the top of the wizarding society, and he was more than ready to take it.

Still, he did not make a run for the exits when everybody else did. No point in rushing now when that only meant he would probably be trampled by the mass of older and taller students. Or, more likely, he would just end up stuck in the crowd. And Draco hated being stuck in crowds. He preferred for people to keep a respectful distance, not close and bumbing into him at every turn, shoving him around. That was just so... undignified!

No, it was better to wait until the masses outside had thinned a bit, so Draco could exit in peace, unharmed and with his dignity intact. And so, he remained seated, simply biding his time. The other purebloods did so, as well. Maybe they had similar notions; none of them were raised to be part of a faceless crowd... they were raised to be on top of it.

Or maybe, they were just following Draco's example. Which was obviously a clever thing to do, because even among a group of other purebloods, the Malfoy heir was clearly meant to lead. _And they know it, too,_ Draco thought smugly as his eyes travelled over his peers.

All of them already wore their regular Hogwarts uniforms, plain black and adorned with the school crest for now, but Draco knew that once they had been sorted, their uniforms would change to represent the colours and emblems of their respective houses.

Of course, he also know what his would be... green and silver, with a snake crest to resemble Slytherin house. It was the house that still upheld pureblood traditions, where people were actually proud of their wizarding anchestries, not cavorting around with mud-bloods, or worse, _muggles_.

It was also the house every Malfoy had belonged to since... well, basically since the very time Hogwarts had been founded, so for Draco to end up anywhere else was simply _unacceptable_.

He supposed most of the pure-bloods would eventually wind up in Slytherin with him, with possibly a Ravenclaw or two thrown in (though probably not Crabbe and Goyle, since Ravenclaws were mean to be intelligent, and those two simply did not fit that bill.).

Finally, Draco decided that the crowds had dispersed sufficiently for him to try his luck. Standing gracefully and straightening his robes, he raised an eyebrow at Crabbe and Goyle. „Well, let's get going, shall we?"

On cue, both boys jumped to their feet. Draco noticed the other pureblood kids stood, as well. Perhaps they were indeed following his example. Good.

He did not bother with his luggage; he knew it would be brought up to the castle. Which was a good thing – imagine Draco Malfoy having to drag around his own trunk! No, that kind of menial labor was for house-elves and servants, not for pure-blood heirs.

Besides, his trunk was damned heavy, and the blond likely would not get very far if he had to lift it on his own.

„Gosh, I can't believe we're finally here!" Pansy gushed somewhere behind him. „I wonder what it'll be like..."

Draco tuned her out as he stepped onto the platform. Indeed, the mass of students had dispersed, with most of the older students already gone. Only a gaggle of what Draco supposed were fellow First Years remained at one end of the platform, along with...

„Firs' Years! Firs' Years, this way!" a loud, obnoxious voice shouted, as if still trying to be heard above a crowd that was no longer there. Standing in front of the group of Draco's future classmates was an impossibly tall man, perhaps twice as tall and a lot wider than a regular man. The sight almost made the blond wish the gas lamps illuminating the platform were dimmer, because this guy made a rather unpleasant picture.

The man's clothes were mismatched, shabby and also looked to be quite dirty. His hair and beard were wild and tangled and looked like they had not seen a comb or brush in years, or maybe not_ ever_. Draco felt his lips curl in distaste. Surely, looking like_ this _ought to be forbidden by law!

But what made it even worse was that this was a sight he had seen before. One he, unfortunately, had not been quite able to banish from his mind.

„Good Lord!" Pansy exclaimed. „Who the hell is that guy? He looks absolutely _savage_!"

„Oh, that's just Hagrid. He's '_gamekeeper'_ at Hogwarts." Draco said dismissively, lips pulling into a smirk. For once, he knew something that Pansy did not!

Okay, so maybe knowing the likes of Hagrid was not necessarily a good thing, but still, Draco could not help but feel smug. _Ha! Suck it, Pansy!_

As he would expect, Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. „Oh? And just how come you know that?" she inquired, sounding quite stung. After all, Pansy always prided herself on being well informed, so she absolutely _hated_ it when people knew stuff she did not. Plus, she was probably still smarting because Draco had met Harry Potter before her.

Yep, Pansy Parkinson was definitely _not_ having a good day.

Draco only smirked wider. „Because you're not the only one who knows things, Pansy." he said, tapping his nose in what he hoped was a mysterious way. As much as he liked showing Pansy up, he did not really feel like discussing how he had seen Potter slumming around Diagon Alley with the giant savage. Actually, he would rather not think about Potter at all. It would only sour his mood.

_Stupid Potter._

Beside Draco, Blaise Zabini raised an elegant eyebrow. „Oh, so that's Hagrid? I heard some rather interesting stuff about him. Wasn't he expelled from Hogwarts for doing something with a dangerous and quite illegal beast?"

The dark-skinned boy sounded rather intrigued, and Draco almost snorted. Of course, it would be the 'dangerous and illegal' part that got Zabini's attention. The guy had always been rather fascinated by such things, even if he usually was too clever to directly involve himself in any of it.

„Yeah, right. Just be careful and don't get too interested, or you might be going the same way." Theo cut in, a disgusted look written across his face.

„Ah, but Theo, where's the _fun_ in that?" Blaise teased, smiling sweetly at the other boy. „You really ought to learn to live a little. Not everything is about family honor and all that boring stuff."

„Easy for you to say, seeing as your so-called family_ never had_ any honor to begin with." Nott grumbled as they finally made their way over to the other First Years. Blaise only smiled wider in response.

Already familiar with that kind of banter, Draco ignored the other boys as he let his eyes trail over his soon-to-be classmates. Many of them looked excited, eyes shining brightly in the lamplight. Others looked a little scared. One our two seemed downright terrified.

Of course, Draco knew his own face would show nothing of that sort. Even if he was excited (and getting more so with every passing minute), he knew his face was firmly schooled into a mask of bored disinterest.

After all, on of the first lesson he had learned in his life (besides respecting the ancient and noble name of Malfoy) had been to stay in control of... well, basically everything. His life, his surroundings, but most of all, himself. He was never to show his true feelings, only let others see what he wanted them to see. It was something he had perfected through years of practice.

„Firs' Years! Firs' Years, ter me!" that giant oaf was still shouting. „That all o' you?" When no one spoke up to object, the giant man nodded. „Good. Follow me, then!"

The good thing about Hagrid's immense height, Draco mused, was that he was impossible to miss. It was very easy to follow him as he led them down a narrow, winding path, until they finally reached the shore of the Black Lake.

Aptly named, its waters shimmered in the moonlight like polished obsidian. Drifting in a sheltered little bay were numerous small boats, and Hagrid gestured the students towards them.

„Ger in, don't be shy! No more than three of you ter a boat!"

Like earlier on the train, there was a sudden rush forward. But this time, the crowd only consisted of other kids their age, and Crabbe and Goyle had no problem shouldering their way through their smaller yearmates to clear a path for Draco.

Once the three of them were settled down, Draco glanced around, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted Potter and ginger about to climb aboard a second boat. Uncharitably, Draco hoped that at least one of them would fall into the (hopefully freezing) waters. His eyes narrowed further when neither of them did him that favour.

In a way, he still almost got his wish when another boy slipped upon trying to get onto the boat with Potter and Weasley. If not for the quick reflexes of that boat's other occupants who reached out and steadied him just in time, that bumbling klutz would have taken a swim for sure.

Draco rolled his eyes as he recognized the clumsy boy. It was the round-faced guy who had been all over the train before, whining for his lost toad. Or was it a rat? Draco could not remember, and quite frankly, did not care. What a wimp. That loser was practically headed for Hufflepuff.

Finally, all of them were seated, including Hagrid, who was so big he needed an entire boat to himself. The boats started to glide across the silent waters, and Draco felt his heartrate pick up despite himself. Any moment now...

Gasps and shouts of awe rose from the other students, but for once, Draco could not really blame them for their expressive responses. He had to fight back a gasp himself at the sight before him, his usual impassive mask nearly slipping right off his face.

Because towering on a cliff high above the lake, its many windows lighting up the night like hundreds of beacons, was Hogwarts castle. And even Draco Malfoy had to admit it was magnificent to behold.

Still fighting to keep a straight face, Draco's excitement mounted. So this, this was Hogwarts, considered to be the best wizarding school in the world. More, it was also the school his parents had attented, as had countless Malfoy anchestors before them, and Draco was proud to follow in their footsteps.

He was glad his mother had dissuaded his father from sending him off to Durmstrang, even if he would have had a chance to properly study the Dark Arts there.

No, Draco found he would rather be at Hogwarts, and he could hardly wait to finally set foot inside the castle for the first time in his life.

* * *

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the train began to slow. A disembodied voice echoed trough their compartment, probably curtesy of some magical speaker system that Harry probably could not begin to comprehend.

„Attention students." it said, „we will shortly arrive at Hogsmeade station. Please do leave your luggage on the train, it will be brought up to the castle for you."

„Castle? What castle?" the raven-haired boy wondered, shooting a quizzical gaze at Ron.

„Well, Hogwarts, of course." the red-head answered with an equally quizzical look. „ My family told me it's all inside this big, old castle. Didn't you know?"

Harry only gave a pointed look in response, and Ron slapped his forehead. „Oh, right, sorry. I keep forgetting you were raised by muggles."

„Hey, no harm done." Harry answered, already deep in thought. A castle. To be honest, the brunet had not really been sure what exactly a wizarding school was ought to look like... although he had already suspected it would be nothing like the drab, modern, purpose-built buildings he knew from elementary school. An ancient castle, on the other hand? Yes, that sounded like a perfect fit.

With a final, drawn-out whistle, the train finally ground to a halt. Moments later, Harry and Ron found themselves standing on a platform lit by gas lanterns, surrounded by a thick and rather noisy throng of excited students. Almost all of them were older and taller than him, and Harry suddenly felt very small. And not just in a physical sense, but also because he had no idea what to do now.

He was just about to ask Ron again (it seemed like the red-head was quickly starting to become Harry's Guide to All Things Wizard) when he heard a loud and somewhat familiar voice shout over the chattering of the crowd.

„Firs' Years! Firs' Years, this way!" And there was Hagrid, unmistakable as he towered over the mass of students, and Harry felt an instant sense of relief flooding through him.

Ron was still looking around somewhat sheepishly, so Harry tugged at his friend's school robes and nodded in Hagrid's direction. „Come on, Ron. This way."

„Firs' Years" O'er here!" Hagrid called out, scanning the crowd of students with his eyes. He smiled when he caught sight of Harry. „Hullo Harry! You alright there?"

The green-eyed boy smiled back at his giant friend. „Hi, Hagrid. Good to see you again."

Next to him, Ron stared up at Hagrid with his eyes wide. „_Wow_." The red-head breathed.

Harry tried not to grin. Hagrid_ was _rather impressive, after all, especially when meeting him for the first time. „Ron, this is Hagrid. Hagrid, Ron."

„Erm, hi." Ron said rather timidly.

„Why, hello there." Hagrid studied the red-head for a moment before a broad smile appeared on his hairy face. „Another Weasley, eh? Feels like I spent half of me life chasing your brothers outta ter Forest! Welcome to Hogwarts!"

The gamekeeper turned back to Harry. „I jus' have ter wait for the rest of yer Firs' Years, an' then I'll take all o' you ter Hogwarts castle! Jus' you wait, it'll be a sight to behold!"

Slowly, the platform cleared as the older students wandered off, giving Harry an opportunity to get a better look at his surroundings. His eyes studied the platform, the lights and the station house... but when he tried to look beyond, he found his view blocked by tall, dark trees. Disappointment swept through him as he realized the castle itself must still be some distance away. Quite a shame, that... he was all but dying to finally get a glimpse of the fabled wizarding school.

Finally, the only ones left on the platform were Hagrid and their little group of nervous and excited First Years. „That all o' you?" the gamekeeper cast one last glance around the station, nodding to himself when he could not see any stragglers. „Okay then, follow me."

He led them down a narrow, winding path through the trees. Tall and dark, the forests closed in on them from all sides, until the only light came from the large lantern carried in Hagrid's sizable hand.

Many of the First Years crowded closer together, whispering fearfully among themselves, but Harry found himself unconcerned. He trusted Hagrid and knew the imposing but gentle giant would never lead them astray.

Eventually, the trees thinned. They found themselves standing on the shore of a large lake, its waters dark and silent in the moonlight.

A small fleet of boats was tied up near the shore, torches burning brightly at their bows, and Hagrid ushered the students towards those vessels.

„C'mon, ger in!" he encouraged them. „No more than three ter a boat. Careful there!"

Harry and Ron briefly glanced at eachother, them climbed aboard one of the boats.

Another First Year boy made to join them, but he lost his footing, yelping as he uselessly floundered about.

Quick as lightning, Harry reached out to steady the other, trying to keep him from falling into the cold dark waters. With Ron's help, he finally managed to pull the third boy safely into their boat.

„Th.. thank you." the boy mumbled, face red from exertion or embarassment, or maybe it was a combination of both. With the torchlight illuminating the other's face, Harry finally recognized him – it was the round-faced boy from the Hogwarts Express, the one who had lost his toad.

„Anytime." Harry smiled in what he hoped in what was an encouraging manner. It seemed to work, because the toadless boy smiled back, albeit a bit shyly.

„I'm Neville Longbottom." He said.

„I'm Ron Weasley." Ron offered.

„And I'm Harry Potter." Harry finished their round of introductions, sighting inwardly when, on cue, Neville gaped at him.

„You... really are?" Neville's eyes went as wide as saucers.

Great. Yet another one staring at him. Harry nodded, awkwardly cleared his throat, and looked away.

His eyes caught sight of Malfoy a few boats over, pale hair glowing like a beacon in the low light. Seemed like the blond had managed to secure a boat together with the two tall, brutish boys that had been with him on the train... Crabbe and Goyle, he had called them.

What startled Harry was that Malfoy did not seem to pay them any mind; the blond's eyes were firmly fixed on Harry, and he was glaring rather venomously.

The brunet frowned. _What the hell is his problem?_ Harry thought, and finally settled for glaring right back.

He was distracted from thoughts of Malfoy when Hagrid called out: „All settled? Good, good, Guess we'll better get going, then!"

Again, Harry frowned, but at the boats this time. He did not know much about boats in general, but he noticed there were no motors visible. No sails, too, and he wondered how they were supposed to move their vessel. Would they have to row? He did not see any oars, either...

His questions were answered when Hagrid clambered aboard a boat of his own, then pulled out his pink umbrella and tapped the side of his vessel. Instantly, it started moving, and Harry gasped quietly when the other boats followed suit. Falling into formation behind Hagrid's boat, the small fleet glided silently across the still waters, as if pulled by an invisible force.

_Oh, right_. Harry thought to himself, feeling a little stupid. _Magic._

„Ye'll get yer firs' sight of Hogwarts in a moment! Jus' look up ahead!" Hagrid's voice echoed across the lake.

Harry looked... and his heart skipped a beat. Well, more like several of them, actually.

Towering on a cliff high over the lake stood a large castle. Towers and spires rose high into the night skies, illuminated by the light spilling from hundreds of brightly lit windows, making the ancient building look even more mysterious. It truly was a sight to behold, looking awe-inspiring, old and venerable, and Harry found himself wondering if it was haunted. All in all, it truly did look like an enchanted place. Something about it just seemed to scream 'magic!', so even if no one had told him that this was indeed a wizarding school, Harry would still have imagined wondrous things happening behind those walls.

And to imagine he would actually get to stay in such a place! Little wonder that Harry found he could not tear his eyes away the entire time it took their small fleet to reach the cliffs and the towering castle above.

Finally, their little boat ride ended in an underground habor carved into the side of the cliffs. One by one, the vessels bobbed against the stone pier, and Hagrid was the first one to disembark, keeping a watchful eye and occasionally helping students as they climbed out of the boats.

„Everyone okay?" He called, his voice echoing in the confined space.

Suddenly, he leaned forward as something in one of the boats caught his eyes... and that something croaked. „Oi, what's that? Anyone missing a toad?"

Immediately, Neville jumped forward. „Trevor!" the round-faced boy called, beaming brightly as Hagrid handed him his lost pet.

„There ya go – don' ya loose him again!" the gamekeeper chuckled. „Now, everyone, follow me! C'mon, don' be shy!"

They all scrambled to keep up as Hagrid led them up several long, winding flights of stairs. Eventually, they emerged into a huge antrance hall, with a high, arched ceiling and all, and Harry realized they were now in the castle proper. In front of them, more stairs led to the higher floors of the imposing building. To their right, huge wooden doors loomed. Muffled noises spilled from them, and Harry guessed that the other students must be gathered somewhere beyond them.

In front of the large doors stood a tall witch, clad in emerald robes, and this was were Hagrid was leading them now.

„The Firs' Years, Professor McGonagall." the gamekeeper announced.

The witch – Professor McGonagall – gave a curt nodd in reply. „Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here." The giant man left, and the professor swept her gaze over the students.

Her black hair was tightly pulled back, and her eyes were sharp and piercing behind rectangular spectacles. More than one student shuddered or found a sudden interest in the floor under her scrutiny, and Harry had the immediate feeling that he would not want to _ever_ get on her bad side.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally spoke: „Welcome to Hogwarts, First Years. The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Every house has their own history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While in Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. Any achievement on your part will earn your house points, while any wrongdoing will result in points being taken away. At the end of the year, the house with the most house points will win the house cup. I hope that each and every one of you will be a credit to your respective houses."

There, McGonagall paused to give them another piercing look, as if daring anyone to misbehave and discredit whatever house they would be assigned to. „Please wait here until the Sorting Ceremony is ready to begin. I will return shortly."

As soon as the professor had left, frantic whispers broke out as all of the Frist Year students seemed to ponder the same question: what was this 'Sorting Ceremony'?

Of course, most of the students had already known that they were going to be sorted into different houses before they even came to Hogwarts. And yet, strangely enough, no one seemed to know how exactly this was done... not even any of the students who came from magical families.

Naturally, that still did not stop them from speculating, and soon, all sorts of rumors were flying about.

„My brothers told me about this." Ron said grimly, looking a little pale under his freckles. „Fred says it hurts a lot..."

„I heard they give you veritaserum and ask you all sorts of embarassing stuff in front of the entire school." Someone else suggested. The whispers grew more worried until someone else thought to point out that using that stuff on underage people was actually illegal...

„I heard it's some sort of test." a girl said. „It's supposed to be very difficult."

The latter seemed to at least catch the attention of Hermione Granger, who was now talking to herself in rapid, hushed whispers, no doubt rehearsing all the spells she knew and wondering which ones she would need.

„What did I say? Mental!" Ron whispered, ellbowing Harry. The brunet just nodded, wishing Hermione would shut up already. He was beginning to feel rather queasy... he did not know any magic, so how was he supposed to pass any sort of test without making a fool of himself? And he was not too eager to be asked embarassing questions in front of god-knows how many other students, veritaserum or not (what the hell was veritaserum, anyway?). No, just once, Harry would love to start a school year without becoming the target for ridicule, thank you very much.

As for the ceremony being painful... well, even in a magic school, they would not actually_ hurt_ the students, would they?

Harry almost reconsidered his assesment when several girls suddenly started screaming. Oh, God. What if the Sorting Ceremony actually _was_ painful? What if it was something really awful and dangerous and...

Wait. McGonagall was not back yet. That meant the ceremony could not have begun yet. But then, why were they screaming...?

„Relax." someone shouted. „It's just the ghosts, they're harmless!"

_Ghosts?!_, thought Harry, eyes darting around wildly. Sure enough, there were now several translucent people milling about, easily passing through solid stone walls and gliding around without their feet ever touching the ground. So Hogwarts castle was indeed haunted – and by multiple ghosts, it seemed – but before Harry could marvel further at that fact, McGonagall was back.

„First Years, follow me now." She waved a hand at the huge, ornately carved doors, and they opened wide. The emerald-clad teacher marched right through them, and the First Year students followed her, only to be greeted with another amazing, magical sight.

The Great Hall was just that... a long hall with high walls and tall arches and large windows, illuminated by what seemed to be hundreds of candles floating around in mid-air. And the ceiling...

Harry looked up once and almost faltered in his steps, because there did not seem to _be_ a ceiling. Instead, all he could see was the night sky, with the moon and stars twinkling brightly from on high. It was beautiful, really, but Harry still frowned, wondering whether the Hall was actually open to the elements and the sky above. What if it rained?

As if she had heard his thoughts, Hermione whispered to someone behind Harry: „The ceiling isn't real. It's enchanted to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

_Ah. Well, then_, Harry thought, finally tearing his eyes away from the ceiling to survey the Hall beneath.

Four long tables lined the hall, two on either side of the new students as McGonagall led them straight down the middle of the Hall. The four tables held long rows of older students, and as Harry looked around, he noticed that their black Hogwarts robes were different from those of the First Years... they had some parts accented in another color. A further glance told him that there were actually different colors – yellow, blue, red and green – and that each table had its own color.

Four colours. Four tables. Harry guessed they might signify the four houses they had been told about.

At the front end of the hall sat a slightly raised platform, and on it stood another long table. Seated behind it were perhaps a dozen adults, and Harry smiled when he spotted Hagrid. A few seats over, he thought he saw Professor Quirell's purple turban, and at the center of the table sat an old, venerable looking wizard with a long beard that Harry recognized as Albus Dumbledore.

McGonagall led them all the way to the front, stepping onto the platform before turning to face the First Years. It was then that Harry noticed there was something else up there besides what seemed to be the teachers' table... next to McGonagall stood a chair, and on it was a pointy wizard's hat, old, worn, and rather dirty. It did not seem to be anything special, and yet, it somehow seemed to draw everyone's attention as the entire school went quiet. Waiting.

Then, the strangest thing happened. A crack opened right above the hat's wide brim. It moved as sounds filled the hall, and with a start, Harry realized that the hat was _singing_.

It was a poem, Harry realized as the hat introduced himself as the Hogwarts Sorting Head,. Obviously, it could read their thoughts to find out what house fit them best... which was odd, really, Harry thought, but at least, it did not sound all that dangerous. He forced himself to pay attention as the Hat listed off the different houses... best to know what he might he getting himself into. He wondered if he should take notes. If so, they would probably look something like this:

Gryffindor: brave, daring and chivalrous.

Hufflepuff: just, loyal, patient and hard-working

Ravenclaw: wise, witty and knowledgeable

Slytherin: sly, cunning, use any means to achive their ends

Once it had finished his poem, the hat bowed to each of the four tables. A round of applause sounded, and then McGonagall called for quiet so she could adress the First Years again.

„When I call out your name, you will come forward and sit on this chair, and I will place the Hat onto your heads so you can be sorted."

A collective sigh of relief slipped from the First Years, like a gust of wind entering the hall. So, all they had to do was put on that Hat? Now, that did not sound so bad, after all. Weird, sure, but not as awful as some of the other stuff they had imagined.

„I'm gonna kill Fred." Ron grumbled as if to prove that point. „Wrestling a troll, my ass..."

Harry shot him an alarmed look, deciding there and then to never, ever believe anything the Weasley twins told him, before his attention was drawn to McGonagall again.

From her emerald robes, the teacher drew a large scroll, and without further ado, she called out the first name: „Abbott, Hannah!"

A nervous girl with pigtails shuffled forward. As promised, McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head. Harry held his breath, anxious to see what would happen, as did everyone else.

For a moment, what happened was exactly nothing. Then, the Hat shouted out „Hufflepuff!"

At this, the students at the far-right table – the yellow one – erupted into cheers. So, these were the Hufflepuffs, and newly sorted Hannah made their way over to her housemates.

Now, Harry felt rather silly for having worried so much. The whole Sorting thing seemed simple enough, no tests or awkward questions asked... or not out loud, at least. It did not seem to hurt, either. He almost felt himself beginning to relax when the next few students were sorted without incident.

Unfortunately, another worry of his was already raising its ugly head. Because the whole situation uncomfortably reminded him of past occurances at his old school. Whenever students had had to team up for sports or whatever reason, no one had ever wanted to pick Harry. They had all been scared it might look as they were getting too chummy with him - Dudley had seen to that, usually by beating the shit out of everyone who tried to be nice to Harry. Most people back then had actually been too afraid of his brutish cousin to even _go_ anywhere near Harry.

The brunet told himself he was being ridiculous. Dudley was not there to make his life miserable now. No one at Hogwarts even knew his cousin existed. It should have been a fresh start, without Dudley's fat shadow hanging over his every step... and still, waiting there for his name to be called, he could not shake off the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He might have gotten away from his relatives, but would things at Hogwarts really be different? What if no one at the school wanted Harry there, too? And what if he could not be sorted, if he just sat there until someone told him this was all a huge mistake and he must return to the Dursleys at once? What if everything that had happened was simply too good to be true?

_No, stop_, Harry firmly tried to tell himself. Those thoughts were awful enough to make him feel nauseous, his stomach already bubbling omniously. If he kept this up, he would probably be sick, and throwing up in front of the entire school was _not_ how he wanted to start his first year at Hogwarts.

In a bid to distract himself, he tried to pay close attention to the other students being sorted. One by one, they were called up and stepped forward to have the Hat placed upon their respective heads. Every time, the Hat would call out a house. None of them, however, were told that they could not be sorted, and no one was sent home, either. It made Harry feel just a tiny bit better... if no one else so far was kicked out, maybe he would not be, either?

Familiar names started cropping up as the ceremony went on. Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's two friends (or bodyguards or whatever, Harry still was not sure what exactly they were to eachother) both went to Slytherin. At the second table from the right, students in green cheered as the two First Years joined them.

Hermione Granger nearly tripped as she rushed forward, so eager was she to learn her house. The Hat promptly decided she was a Gryffindor, and she sat down on the red table on the far left as the other Gryffindors welcomed her. Ron, on the other hand, groaned at that, obviously torn between his desires to become a Gryffindor himself and not having to share a house with the bushy-haired witch.

More students were being called. Two Hufflepuffs. A Ravenclaw went to the table at the far right (the blue one). Another Gryffindor.

Harry noticed that some students were placed right away, but the Hat took longer with others. Poor Neville Longbottom very nearly fell flat on his face on his way to the front, then spent several minutes on the chair. When the Sorting Hat finally declared him a Gryffindor, Neville ran off still wearing it. Laughter echoed across the Hall when he had to turn back and hand the Hat over to McGonagall, and Harry cringed in sympathy.

Finally, „Malfoy, Draco!" was called, and the blond swaggered forward, head held up high in an almost nauseating show of arrogance. Harry swallowed; the blond just seemed so confident, so totally unconcerned about this whole Sorting business. And well, from Malfoy's point of view, there really was nothing to worry about, because the blond had always been so absolutely _sure_ that he would be sorted and even where.

Unlike Harry, who found he rather envied the blond his certainty.

* * *

Draco stood with his arms crossed, waiting impatiently as students were called forward to be sorted. Of course, he already knew what house he was going to be in, so he found this entire ceremony to be rather pointless. Resisting the urge to tap his foot (because Malfoys did not fidget!), he wished for it to be over already. It had been a long day, and even though he did not show it, he was getting tired. He wanted nothing more than to finally join the other students at the Slytherin table, grab a bite to eat, and then sleep for a few long hours.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, McGonagall called his name. Managing not to roll his eyes, Draco stepped forward with as much confidence as he could muster. Despite his disappointment with the ceremony itself, he very well knew the significance of this particular moment... the entire school would watch as the Malfoy heir took his rightful place in Slytherin house, therefore continuing the proud traditions of his ancient and venerable family.

Naturally, Draco kept his head held high and his steps confident. The raised platform at the front of the Great Hall seemed almost like a stage, something he thought oddly fitting. Now, if only that rickety wooden chair was something more dramatic, perhaps an elaborately decorated armchair or a throne. But alas, it was not, so Draco just had to made do.

Resigning himself to his fate with an inaudible sigh, Draco settled on the hard wooden chair, and McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto his immaculate blond hair. It fell straight down, covering his face and filling his nostrils with a dusty, mouldy smell. Draco had to fight back a shudder at the thought of having something so filthy touch his body.

A tiny voice sounded in his head, and he just knew it belonged to the Hat. Of course, he knew the Sorting Hat could read minds, but hell if the idea of having anyone getting inside his brain, his _innermost thoughts_, this easily, did not make him want to shudder all over again. Perhaps he ought to think about some extra Occlumency lessons...

„What do we have here?" He – she, it? Did magical Hats even have a gender, and how was Draco supposed to know? – whispered. „Hm, a Malfoy... now, what do I do with you?"

_Just say 'Slytherin' and be done with it,_ Draco thought, eager to finally have the filthy, disgusting and probably unsanitary Hat removed so he could breathe properly again.

However, to Draco's disappointment, the Hat did not immediately comply with this demand. „Hm, Slytherin, hm?" the voice said, and Draco was one second away from considering what threats he could use to force the Hat into doing his bidding when said Hat went on: „Yes, you would fit in well there, no doubt about it, and yet... there's something else in you, oh yes... something you are not yet aware of yourself. Something you have yet to discover... and if you go to Slytherin, you might never find it..."

In weeks and months to come, Draco would eternally curse himself for being a curious cat. He was aware that he never knew to leave well enough alone when presented with a riddle, because he just needed to know. And he was well aware that this trait, though useful sometimes, could also get him into some serious trouble.

So yeah, he really ought to have known better but right then, he _still_ could not help but wonder what that damned piece of enchanted clothing was going on about. What exactly was it that the Hat thought thought he needed to discover about himself, and why could he not do that in Slytherin?

But even more than himself, he would curse this abominable Hat, which was much too perceptive for a piece of _fucking _clothing. With words, not magic, because unfortunately, he did not yet know enough to be able to cast actual curses, no matter how much he might want to. Why the hell did the bloody Hat have to read his thoughts, and why, why did he have to notice the flicker of curiousity Draco could not quite suppress?!

Because notice it, the Hat did. „Oh, that got you interested?" the horrible, treacherous, meddling... _thing_ whispered softly. „Well, if that's the case, you better be GRYFFINDOR!"

And Draco's entire world came crashing down.

* * *

**Argh! Cliffhanger!**

**I'm sorry, I know those are evil. I'll try to have the next chapter up ASAP! Do I sense a major identity crisis coming Draco's way?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Eh, I've decided to post chapters 4 & 5 together, 'cause it just didn't feel right to leave you with the Evil Cliffhanger of Doom.**

**Reposted chapter five as of 07/28/2019 because of missing pieces of text (thanks to Gulhuinn for pointing it out!) and other errors. Sorry about that...**

**Warning: copious amounts of drama ahead...**

* * *

„_Is this a nightmare  
__Am I in someone else's dream  
__Give me a soul to redeem_

_Is this the after  
__An ever endless world of pain  
__To drive the faithful insane_

_Somebody let me out, I'll pay the toll  
Somebody free me from this hell and deliver my soul_

_Lost in forever  
__In a world of shattered skies  
__I am reaching for my life  
__Lost in forever  
__While the centuries fall apart  
__I am searching for my heart_

_Lost in the vast of eternity  
__Nowhere to go, no one to be  
__Trapped in the silent infinity  
__Forever yearning, never free"_

_~ Beyond the Black, „Lost In Forever"_

* * *

Finding Courage: Chapter Five: The Snake In The Lion's Den

No. No, no, absolutely NO!

There was just no way. No way that the word to come out of the Sorting Hat's 'mouth', the one the thrice-blasted article of clothing had just shouted out for the entire school to hear, had been 'Gryffindor'. It just was not possible.

Maybe Draco had misheard... although admittedly, it was rather difficult to mistake 'Slytherin' for 'Gryffindor'. Or maybe this entire thing was just a dream, just some horrible nightmare. Yes, that must be it. He must have fallen asleep on the Hogwarts Express and dreamed up this shit after eating way too many sweets or something.

Or, better yet, he was still in his home at the Manor. Any moment now, he would wake up in his comfortable bed and laugh at this silly dream.

Maybe he had already woken up. Maybe this was why he could only see darkness in front of his eyes. Maybe it still was somewhere in the middle of the night, and he could just roll over for a few more hours of sleep.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted. Draco blinked owlishly for a moment, before the sight before him registered. The Great Hall, myriads of candles floating above, illuminating a crowd of Hogwarts students staring at him. So this dream, or whatever it was, was not over yet, Draco thought absentmindedly, his usual mask of cold indifference slamming back into place purely by instinct...

„Mr. Malfoy?" At the sound of his name, the blond's head snapped up. Draco blinked once as he took in the strict looking witch, who he remembered was Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts, looking down at him with what looked suspiciously like concern. „Mr. Malfoy, are you alright?"

And Draco wanted to scream, to shout that no, he was not alright, because how could he be alright when he was trapped in a nightmare or perhaps caught in some hellish alternate dimension? How could this be alright?! However, he was a Malfoy, and he had better control of himself, dream or not. And so, he only nodded once at McGonagall's question, before bracing himself for what he had to do next.

Draco did not want to get up. His body felt like lead, and his head was buzzing with dizzyness. However, he knew he would only draw undue attention to himself if he remained sitting there for much longer, so he made himself take deep, steadying breaths before he forced himself to his feet. He felt nothing but cold numbness as he cast one last wishful look at the Slytherins before reluctantly turning his back, instead forcing himself to move to the red table waiting for him.

Really, this was just _wrong_.

He was struck with how silent the Great Hall had become. The only things Draco heard were hushed whispers. To his ears, they sounded like hissing snakes, seeming to mock him as he slowly made his way over to the Gryffindor table.

The Gryffindor table. Really, what had Draco ever done for his dreams to torment him like this? He absolutely refused to consider that this could be anything else but some horribly twisted nightmare, because. This. Just. Was not. Possible. When had a Malfoy ever been placed anywhere else but Slytherin, much less in Gryffindor? This just could not be happening!

Draco noticed he was starting to feel dizzy again and forced himself to breathe deeply once more, forced himself to focus on taking even, steady steps. Even when his entire world had been turned upside down, he would not embarass himself by stumbling. Or worse, keeling over in front of the assembled school for everyone to see.

Just breathe. One foot in front of the other. He could do this.

As he neared his destination, he distantly noticed that every single Gryffindor was staring at him with varying degrees of schock written across their faces. A small flash of irritation seeped through the numbness filling Draco's insides – those Gryffindor idiots, how dare _they_ have the nerve to look shocked when it was _Draco_ who felt like his whole world was just falling to pieces all around him?!

Only a few red students belatedly clapped their hands when the Malfoy heir joined them, but Draco did not care. Instead, he just tried to avoid everyone elses' eyes as he shuffled over to an empty section of the bench. Once he was settled down, he cast a preemptive glare all around him, still not meeting anyone's eyes, before he resolutely fixed his gaze on the surface of the table.

There was a moment of silence, time seeming to stand still as the entire Hall appeared to draw a collective breath. And then, just like that, the world started moving forward again. The Sorting resumed, names were called. Cheers and shouts echoed as new students joined their houses for the first time.

Yet Draco stayed silent, almost oblivious to everything happening around him. He felt oddly disconnected from these events, almost as if even though the world was spinning on, he had somehow been left behind. And when he finally managed to raise his gaze and look at his surroundings again, all he could see was a sea of red where there should have been green, and reality hit him with the force of a speeding Hogwarts Express.

This, this was so much worse than the worst nightmare, worse than being stuck in hell itself, because this, this was_ real._ It was utterly impossible, but it was real. This was his life. He was really sitting at this table, trapped in a crowd of noisy, uncouth, plebeian Gryffindors.

He, _Draco Malfoy_,was a Gryffindor himself.

It was too much. With a nearly audible crack, Draco's self-control fractured, leaving him quietly gasping for breath as hot tears stung his eyes. Fighting for the last remaining shreds of his composure, he placed his arms on the table and dropped his face into them. That way, at least he did not have to see the red students surrounding him, and that was just as well. At the moment, Draco just wanted to shut the world out. Maybe if he stopped looking, everything would just go away. Anything was better than having to acknowledge this terrible, strange new reality he had just been thrust into.

Normally, Draco would have never let himself go like that. But right then, it did not seem to matter. Not when he needed everything left of his self-control to keep himself from bursting into tears, right there at the Gryffindor table.

* * *

There was a collective gasp, and a slew of whispers broke out all over the great hall. Next to him, Ron choked out a strangled groan that sounded like „WHAT?!"

But Harry did not really notice. Because in his mind, he was back at Madam Malkin's, listening to a pale, grey eyed boy as the other said: „I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family has been there."

Malfoy had been so_ sure_... and yet, when the Sorting Hat was finally placed atop his blond head, the word to come out of the Hat's 'mouth' had not been Slytherin.

„GRYFFINDOR!"

Seemed as if Malfoy had been sorely mistaken, and Harry wondered how the usually arrogant, self-assured boy would take it.

The Sorting Hat was lifted, and Harry immediately thought that the answer to his question was something along the lines of 'not very well'.

Although that might have been something of an understatement, because Harry was sure he had seen a flash of pure, absolute _shock_ on Malfoy's face before it was quickly hidden, the pale features smoothing back into their usual cold indifference.

However, Harry had a strong suspicion that right then, this was nothing more than a mask the other wore. Because for all of his composure, there was no hiding the fact that Malfoy's already pale face had lost even the smallest hint of color, or that he must have been so dazed that he did not make a move to get up once the Hat had been removed. Instead, he just sat there until McGonagall spoke to him. Only then did Malfoy's head jerk up to look at her, and only then did he rise of the chair to make his way over to the Gryffindor table with a lot less confidence then before.

Still, his steps were steady, and even if he had lost his arrogant swagger, he made it to the red table without incident. Harry was rather impressed... with how deathly white Malfoy had become, he had been genuinely worried the blond might pass out halfway there.

Harry noticed that the round of applause with which the other Gryffindors greeted Malfoy seemed rather half-hearted and subdued. The entire school seemed to be as shell-shocked about him being placed in Gryffindor as Malfoy himself was.

It seemed that there really was no way to know what house you would be before the Hat proclaimed it, especially if even someone who was as sure about his future house as_ Malfoy _could end up somewhere else. And it left Harry with a sinking feeling in his stomach as a terrible, terrible thought struck: what if the Sorting Hat decided to place _him_ in Slytherin...?

Not many people left now. Soon, he would know. Before long, Professor McGonagall's voice was calling out: „Potter, Harry!"

And the raven-haired boy lurched forward as whispers spread through the Hall like wildfire, some of them actually loud and excited enough for Harry to hear:

„Potter, did she say Potter?"

„THE Harry Potter?

„Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?!"

Gulping slightly, Harry thankfully managed to still make his way to the front without falling flat on his face or embarassing himself in any other way. As he turned to sit on the chair, he realized that the entire school was staring at him. All around the Great Hall, students were craning their necks and pointing fingers. Some had stood up from their seats, and a few had even climbed onto the benches for a better look.

Harry felt his face flush. He was almost grateful when McGonagall dropped the Hat on him, plunging him into darkness and at least temporarily hiding him from view.

„Hm, difficult. Very difficult." A tiny voice whispered inside his head. Was that the Hat? Yes, it had to be... „Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... so, where shall I put you?"

And the only thing Harry could think was: _Not Slytherin!_

„Not Slytherin, eh?" the Hat whispered back. „Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all there in your head, and Slytherin could help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about it..."

Cold dread slammed into Harry's stomach, along with Hagrid's voice echoing around in his mind: „There wasn't a single witch o' wizard who want bad that wasn't in Slytherin."

_Not Slytherin, please! Anywhere but there_, Harry thought pleadingly, green eyes squeezing shut in desperation.

And finally, the Sorting Hat took pity on him. „Well, if you are sure... better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The Hat was lifted off his head, and it felt like the weight of the world had gone with it. Harry was almost dizzy with relief, but he also felt elation. Not only had he been chosen, he had also escaped being stuck in Slytherin! The raven-haired boy almost had to force himself not to run towards the Gryffindor table, which seemed to have temporarily errupted into chaos.

Almost every single red student was on their feet, cheering and banging on the table. The Weasley twins could be heard shouting „We have Potter!" over the noise. They were certainly much more welcoming of him than Malfoy, and when Harry finally arrived at the table, there were several people waiting to shake his hand or deliver an encouraging slap on his back. Percy the prefect did not seem to ever want to let go of Harry's fingers. One of the ghosts, a man wearing an enormous ruff around his neck, insisted on patting Harry's arm. It left the brunet shivering slightly... turns out that being touched by a ghost actually felt a lot like being doused with ice water.

But as Harry scanned the table, trying his best to ignore his admirers as he looked for a place to sit, his eyes fell upon a huddled figure. The other had his head buried in his arms and his face was hidden from view, but the candlelight gleaming on sleek pale-blond hair told Harry it was Malfoy.

Harry knew he did not like Malfoy. He had not forgotten how derisively the other had spoken about Hagrid, or how arrogant and condescing Malfoy had been when he met Ron on the train... and yet, something about the sight of Malfoy huddled up like that tugged at Harry's heart. There was barely a trace of the stuck-up boy from earlier left in the other's posture. Instead, he looked awfully small and somehow lost, especially in contrast to the boisterous Gryffindors surrounding him.

And so, Harry found himself sitting down next to Malfoy, looking at the hunched over boy with a hint of concern in his green eyes. „Hey, Malfoy." He whispered.

The blond did not respond, nor did he in any way indicate that he had heard Harry at all, and this only made the other worry even more. Was it just him, Harry thought as he raked his eyes over Malfoy's form, or was the pale wizard trembling ever so slightly?

He considered reaching out and touch Malfoys shoulder, as much to get his attention as to offer comfort... but judging on what Harry had so far seen of the proud and rather prickly blond, Malfoy would probably punch him straight in the face if Harry dared to even lay a single finger on him.

„Malfoy." He tried again, a bit louder this time. „Malfoy, are you alright?"

That finally got a reaction. The blond shifted his head – just a little, just enough for one grey eye to appear and glare at Harry. „Peachy, Potter. Really, how could I not?"

Even though his voice was muffled by his arms, the sarcasm that dripped from those words was unmistakable, and Harry felt like an idiot for even asking.

Of course, Malfoy was _not _alright, that much was obvious. Harry opened his mouth, not really sure what to say. In the end, it did not matter, because Malfoy was quicker, anyways.

„Would you just kindly fuck off and mind your own fucking business." the pale boy hissed venomously, his glare sharpening enough to make Harry flinch before the blond hid his face again.

A fisson of annoyance ran through Harry. He had only wanted to be nice, to help Malfoy when the other seemed so clearly distressed, but if the blond had to be such a dick about it, fine. Harry would leave him alone, just as he had demanded.

Another outbreak of cheers from the other Gryffindors caught Harry's attention, and he looked up just in time to see Ron walking up to their table. With a huge grin on his face, the red-head dropped down in the empty seat next to Harry, immediately engaging his raven-haired friend in conversation without sparing more than a curious glance at Malfoy, still hunched over at Harry's other side.

The remainig few sudents were sorted quickly, and after the last one – a tall, dark-skinned boy going by Blaise Zabini – was placed in Slytherin, Professor McGonagall waved her wand at the chair the students had sat in. It promptly vanished, and the teacher moved to take the Hat away.

A clapping of hands had everyone focusing on the teachers' table. Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and adressed the assembled school, voice quiet but still carrying: „Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts. There is an excellent feast waiting for us, but I'm afraid there are a few things I have to impart on you before all our minds are too befuddled by food and drink."

„First, use of magic is forbidden in the corridors for all students. Second, our caretaker, Mr Filch, has asked me to inform you that the list of banned items has been updated to include Fanged Frisbees and Yowling Yo-Yos, among others. The entire list, which is quite extensive, may be viewed outside Mr. Filch's office."

„Third, all of our First Years should please note that the forest on the school grounds is off-limits to all students without the presence of a teacher... and some of our older students would do well to remember this." Was it just Harry's imagination, or did Dumbledore's eyes really linger on the Weasley twins as he said those words?

„And finally, all students should know that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is off-limits to everyone who does not wish to die a painful death." This announcement was met by surprised gazes as students started whispering.

A painful death? Slightly concerned, Harry looked at Ron, but the red-head just shrugged. He glanced at Percy a few seats over, but the prefect looked just as clueless as the rest of them... and also, Harry noticed, none to happy about being left in the dark.

Intrigued, Harry could not help but wonder. What could result in a painful death at Hogwarts? Maybe the corridor was just closed for renovation and they might fall through the floor if they went there or whatever. Or maybe there was some dangerous magic running haywire up there? Ah, well, never mind. Because no matter how curious Harry might be, he did not plan on finding out. He rather preferred not dying in any way, much less a painful one, thank you very much. Especially not now, when he had finally broken free from the Dursleys and arrived at the most amazing place he had ever seen.

Not when he felt like his life had only just begun.

Dumbledore clapped his hands again, and the students obediently fell silent. „Enough with the boring stuff now. Let the feast begin!"

On cue, food suddenly appeared on the table seemingly out of thin air. But not just food, but just about any kind of food one could think of... pastries and chicken, steak, chips and other food Harry did not recognize, but everything looked simply delicious. For a moment, the raven-haired boy just stared in wonder, but when the other students reached for the food, it did not take him long to do the same, piling his plate with a bit of everything he liked.

For Harry, this was a novel experience. For the first time in his life, he was able to eat what he wanted and how much he wanted, and he did so with gusto. Before long, the dishes disappeared, only to be replaced by an astounding variety of desserts.

Harry ate and listened to the conversation flowing around him.

A few seats down the table, students were talking about their families. „I'm half and half." A First Year with an irish accent said. „Me Dad's a muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch until after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock when he found out."

Nope. There was no way Harry was joining this particular conversation, because he really did not want to discuss the Dursleys with the rest of Gryffindor house.

Across the table, Percy Weasley and Hermione Granger were discussing school subjects. Harry just caught enough of their conversation to decide that they probably were the biggest nerds in Gryffindor before he lost interest. He was curious about their lessons, too, but for now, he just wanted to soak up the cheerful, festive atmosphere without having to worry about actual school stuff.

The ghost who had touched Harry earlier floated by again, and Ron instantly recognized him as Nearly Headless Nick, ghost of Gryffindor tower. Though the ghost himself insisted to be called Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, but Harry doubted he would remember that later. He would rather just call him Nick, anyways.

Harry also wondered how one could be 'Nearly Headless'. As did Hermione Granger, obviously, only she asked the question out loud. And at the sight of Nick tugging his head to one side to reveal that it was only connected to the gaping wound of his neck by a few stray inches of tendon and skin, Harry really wished she had kept silent.

So, _this_ was how one could be 'nearly headless'. It was enough for Harry to loose his appetite.

Trying to look anywhere but at the ghost, Harry found his gaze straying to the teachers' table. Just for one second, his eyes met those of one of the teachers sitting there, a man with greasy black hair and a hooked nose next to Quirell.

Suddendly, a sharp stab of agony shot through Harry's lightning scar, causing him to hiss out in pain and shock. It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving Harry to frown in puzzlement as he absentmindedly rubbed his forehead.

_What the hell was that?_ Harry had had that scar for as long as he could remember, but to this day, it had never been painful, so why would it hurt now? Maybe it was because the scar, as he had only recently learned, had been caused by dark magic. Maybe now that he had entered the wizarding world, the magic there was causing the scar to act up? But then, why would it hurt now and not when he had been at Diagon Alley?

Maybe there was something about the teacher, but what? Who exactly was that guy, anyways?

Since Ron was pretty busy stuffing his face (and probably would not have been able to recognize the teacher anyway, being a First Year himself), Harry had to resort to other measures: he asked Percy. „Percy, who's the teacher sitting next to Professor Quirell? The one in black?"

„Hm?" said Percy, surfacing from his nerd fest with Hermione just long enough to throw a quick glance at the High Table. „Oh, that's Professor Snape, head of Slytherin house. He teaches Potions, but everybody knows it's Defense Against The Dark Arts he really wants. Also, he doesn't like us Gryffindors very much. Best to stay clear of him."

With that, Percy dove back into his conversation with Hermione. Harry's frown deepened. Okay, that Snape sounded like an unpleasant sort. Maybe that's why his scar hurt – some sort of warning, perhaps. But then, how could Harry have spent ten years with his awful relatives without it hurting all the time?

He was still pondering when Dumbledore once again stood to adress the school, this time to declare it was time for them to go to bed. „Students, please follow your prefects to your dormitories."

Suddenly very busy, Percy the prefect jumped to his feet and drew himself up tall, trying to look important. „Gryffindors! Gryffindor First Years, this way! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

Harry and Ron stood, and the green-eyed boy jumped slightly when he detected movement on his other side, too. With Dumbledore's speech, the excellent food, and the incident with his scar, he had somehow managed to forget about Malfoy still being there.

Had the blond even moved once during the feast? Had he eaten anything?

The brunet told himself it did not matter. After all, Malfoy had told him to mind his own business in no uncertain terms. As they followed Percy out of the Great Hall, he caught a glimpse of the other's pale face. Malfoy seemed to have gotten himself back under control and was now wearing a long-suffering expression that clearly stated he would rather be somewhere else.

They marched through the entrance hall and up a seemingly never ending series of stairs and corridors. Harry wondered whether they would ever end... he was tired, and his feet felt like lead after all of the day's excitement and so much excellent food. In fact, he was beginning to get so tired that he did not even startle when some of the stairs started to shift positions, or when the people in the numerous portraits adorning the walls moved and called out to them.

Once, their long trek across what felt like like the entire bloody_ castle_ was rather rudely interrupted by two walking sticks floating in mid-air. This was their first encounter with Peeves, the poltergeist. It took quite a few threats from Percy to make the mischieveous ghost give way, and even then, Peeves did not go quietly. Instead, he opted for whooshing over their heads, making them all duck as he dropped the walking sticks.

One of them smacked Neville on the head, and he yelped at the impact. The other, unfortunately, grazed Malfoy's shoulder, and the blond spun around with a look of utter indignation, all but hissing insults and threats to where Peeves had disappeared. Harry almost smiled – in his fatigue-impaired state, Malfoy's outburst reminded him of a cat throwing a hissy fit, and he was genuinely surprised when the blond's hair remained firmly slicked back instead of standing on edge.

Finally, Percy stopped in front of one of the larger portraits. It's subject was a rather... big... lady with an unflattering pink dress and far too many chins.

„Password?" She asked.

„Caput Draconis." Percy answered. The painted lady smiled, and her portrait swung away from the wall, revealing a doorway beyond. The First Years followed Percy through it and found themselves in a large, round room.

„Welcome to the Gryffindor common room." the prefect said. It was rather cozy, with a fire roaring in a large fireplace. Red tapestries hung on the walls, rugs covered the stone floor, and mismatched armchairs and couches were scattered across the room, along with tables of various sizes.

Harry was just about considering dropping into one of the comfortable-looking armchairs and falling asleep, but Percy proceeded to lead them through the maze of chairs and couches until they reached a wide doorway on the other side of the room.

„This will lead you to your dormitories. Girls, go up the stairs and turn left, boys turn right. Now, off you go."

Following Percy's instuctions, Harry and the other First Year boys dragged their tired bodies up yet another spiraling staircase, until they finally – _finally! _– found themselves in another round but smaller room, and Harry swore he was not the only one to sigh in relief at the sight of the six large four-poster beds waiting for them.

As announced earlier on the train, their trunks had already been brought up, and the new Gryffindors immediately beelined for their assigned bed and started changing into sleep clothes.

„Great food, don't you think?" Ron asked with his head stuck in his pyjama top.

Seamus Finnegan – the irish boy with the muggle father from earlier – grunted in agreement as he let himself flop backwards onto his bed. „Great beds, too." he sighed, but his eyes narrowed as he scowled at the doorway. „If only we didn't have to share our space with a snake."

Surprised by the other's outburst, Harry followed his line of sight, and his own green eyes landed on Malfoy. Unlike the others, the blond had not made for his bed but was still hovering around near the threshold. Once more, the pale-skinned boy just looked lost, even with the haughty, arrogant expression he wore on his pointy face.

Ron had caught sight of Malfoy, too, and he snorted in obvious disgust. „Right. Really, I don't know what the Hat was thinking, placing him here. There's no way in hell this one will ever be a Gryffindor!"

At the open hostility pouring from both boys, Malfoy crossed his arms as his chin raised defiantly. „Believe me, I don't know what the Hat was thinking, either, but I can assure you I would rather be anywhere else than here."

„Guess the feeling's mutual, Malfoy, because no one wants your slimy snake ass here, either." Seamus, by now back on his feet, sneered.

„I don't care what the Hat said, you should be in Slytherin with the rest of your lot." Ron added.

Both of them were glaring fiercely at the blond. They were ganging up on Malfoy, and Harry felt discomfort twinge at his insides. It was a scene that was oddly familiar to Harry, even though he usually found himself at the recieving end of such situations. True, Harry might not like Malfoy, but still, this – Ron and Seamus were _bullying_ Malfoy, for heaven's sake – just did not feel right. Harry was just about to speak up and suggest that they should leave the blond well enough alone, but Malfoy was quicker.

„Agreed, because there's no way in hell I ever wanted to be stuck in Gryffindor tower, much less be stuck here with the likes of you." Malfoy all but hissed. Clearly, the blond was furious. „In fact, I could think of any number of people I would rather be around than filthy Weasel losers or freckled monstrosities with muggle fathers. Tell me, is your mother so ugly she could not get a wizard to marry her?"

Seamus, who had almost as many freckles as Ron, turned red with anger, but Malfoy was not finished. „Or that clumsy Longbottom oaf who clearly lost his brain somewhere." The blond turned to glare at Dean Thomas, a dark-skinned boy who had been cautiously watching the unfolding drama with Neville. „As for you, Thomas, I've never heard about your family before, so I doubt they're any kind of respectable wizards."

„My parents are muggles, man." Dean shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. „But, um, don't you all think you should, you know, tune it down a bit?"

Malfoy just looked at him as if the other boy was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen in his life. „No one asked for your advice, you filthy little mud-blood!" the blond spat.

At this, Neville drew a shocked gasp while Seamus gave an outraged exclamation. Ron, however, was across the room in a few quick strides, grabbing Malfoy's collar and shaking the blond slightly. „You slimy piece of snake filth..."

„Get your dirty hands off me, you ginger buffoon!" Malfoy snarled, face flushing with anger. At this, Ron's face contorted, one of his hands pulling back as if readying for a punch... and Harry decided this was going too far.

„Ron, stop! Let him go!" he called out, scrambling to stand next to his friend and placing a hand on the red-head's arm. Ron's eyes snapped to him, confusion along with a small bit of what looked like betrayal clear in them.

„But Harry – he called Dean a... a mud-blood!" Ron protested. Behind him, Seamus nodded vigorously in agreement while Neville just watched, wide-eyed and silent.

„Whatever. That still doesnt't mean it's okay for you to go and punch him!" Harry insisted as he shared a look with Dean, who looked as clueless as him. Okay, so obviously calling someone 'mud-blood' was some sort of massive no-no in the wizarding world... but Harry had no idea what it meant, and he frankly was too tired to give a damn. Maybe he would ask Ron next morning, but now... „Look, it's been a long day, we're all tired, so why don't we all calm down and try to get some sleep?"

Ron looked at his black-haired friend as though the other had gone mental. Harry fixed him with a calm, steady stare, and finally, the ginger relented. „Fine, whatever." he snarled as he dropped his grip on Malfoy's collar and stalked towards his bed, not without occasionally throwing glares at the blond and grumbling to himself.

Harry was about to turn towards his own bed but found himself pinned in place by a steely grey glare. „Oh, so hero Potter needs his beauty sleep? Not that it will do you any good." the blond sneered.

„Shut up, Malfoy." said Harry, too tired to argue now. He had defended Malfoy against the other Gryffindors, but of course, the blond just had to be an ungrateful prat on top of everything else. The brunet busied himself with changing into his sleep clothes, resolutely choosing to ignore the annoying bastard.

Surprisingly enough, Malfoy had nothing to say, either. Perhaps he was exhausted, too. Whatever the reason, the blond just opted to stride over to his assigned bed, throwing himself down with an angry huff.

After that, there were no more words spoken as the boys finished changing and settled down in their beds. Harry was asleep within minutes.

* * *

As he had to listen to his dorm-mates rustling about, Draco just lay back on his bed, forcing himself to stay still as he glared at his canopy.

It was red, of course. He decided he really, really hated that colour. If only he knew a spell to set the entire hideous bed on fire.

And the worst part was that he was stuck there, in Gryffindor tower. Stuck with a filthy mud-blood, the freckled half-blood and the clumsy oaf Longbottom as well as – his favourite part – the absolute loser Weasel and oh-so-famous Harry Potter.

What was he doing here? Surely, none of those plebeian idiots were worthy of his presence. He should be in Slytherin with the other kids from_ respectable_ families.

Draco wanted to scream in frustration. He wanted to punch something, throw stuff around the room, or maybe even try out some of the darker curses he _absolutely_ should not have read about... but hey, it was not his fault if such information were freely available in the Malfoy library, and well, curiosity was, unfortunately, something that was deeply entrenched in Draco's nature. It was what had gotten him into this awful situation in the first place.

But alas, despite his numerous skills and keen mind, Draco doubted that such advanced curses would work for him. And throwing a tantrum in public was inacceptable behaviour, anyways. He had been taught to have better self-control than that. And so, he kept himself still, even though he felt restless, every fibre of his being screaming at him to just_ do _something, anything.

He remained motionless as the sounds of his fellow Gryffindors moving about faded, as the candles illuminating the room flickered out and darkness settled in. Unfortunately, it was not as dark as Draco would have liked – he could still make out the outlines of the room, the old beds crowded together, the rickety nightstands. At least, the semi-darkness leeched every bit of colour from his surroundings, leaving everything in various shades of grey.

He no longer had to endure the hideous scarlet of his drapes. In the near darkness, he could almost delude himself that they were green instead.

Only, he could not get over the fact that he knew they were not green. And they would never be.

Usually, Draco loved nights... the darkness and quiet had always been soothing to him. Now, however, he found them to be his undoing.

Because even the obnoxious sound of his dorm-mates snoring (he bet that was Weasley, the annoying dolt...) was not enough to drown out the terrible, damning words repeating himself over and over in his head – Gryffindor, Gryffindor, you better be a Gryffindor. And it certainly was not enough to distract him as realization crashed over him once more, like waves slowly dragging him under, drowning him in an entire bloody ocean of despair.

He was trapped, he realized. There would be no getting away from this, or from the filthy savages he now shared his dorm with. For the next seven years, this was his home... and now matter how much he wanted to dig in his heels and fight and scream that this was_ not_ right... there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do to change it.

This was not how it was supposed to be. As he laid there, Draco could see flashes from a different life passing in front of his eyes. He saw himself sitting at the Slytherin table, sneering at mud-bloods with his friends. Mocking Potter and Weasley as both of them glared helplessly at him. Making his way to the top of Slytherin house and then the school with his cunning nature and irresistible charms. He could see himself as he played Qudditch, a sea of silver and green cheering him on as he soared above, his parents looking up at him with a look of pride on their faces...

It was everything he had dreamed his life to be, everything he had ever hoped for... and it all burst into flames with just a single word.

_Gryffindor_.

Draco could feel his hands curling into fists, nails slicing into his palms, but he hardly noticed the pain.

What would be his life now? What would the other pure-blood kids think of him now? Worse, what would his _parents_ think of him?

A new wave of dread hit. God, what had he done? A Malfoy in Gryffindor, that was unheard of. It went against everything they believed in. It was absolutely disgraceful, and his parents...

They would be mortified. They would be so disappointed when they heard of this, he was sure. Draco tried hard not to shudder even as he tried not to imagine the look on his Mother's face. And his father...

His father would be furious. He would consider Draco an utter failure, a disgrace to the noble name of Malfoy. That was, if he did not outright _murder_ his wayward son on the spot.

Bile rose in his throat at that thought, leaving Draco to make a blind dash towards the bathroom, and it was nothing short of a miracle he did not trip or crash into anything on his way there. Ultimately, he managed to not throw up, after all. It was a small comfort, because when he dragged a hand down his face, he found it wet with tears. Only then did Draco realizing he was crying.

He tried to stem the tears, he really did. Pushing his hands in his hair, he tugged hard until it hurt... but the pain was not enough to ground him as he felt himself falling ever deeper into a black pit of utter misery. He could not help himself as he curled up in a corner, hugging his knees to his chest as he began to cry in earnest.

Draco despised himself for his weakness, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself from breaking, falling to pieces as his world shattered around him...

* * *

Later that night, Harry awoke from his peaceful slumber to find he needed to use the bathroom. Great... his bladder could not have stayed asleep with the rest of him until it was morning? Groaning as he struggled out of bed, Harry worried about lights for a moment – not like you could just flip a switch and turn on the lights, no, not in the magical world – before he decided that the moonlight flooding in through the windows was bright enough to find his way. Still, he managed to stub his toe on something and bang his shin, and only the thought of the other sleeping Gryffindors kept him from cursing loudly as he stumbled his way into the bathroom.

That was when he heard it. It sounded a lot like a sob, and it froze Harry straight his tracks. Was there... was there someone crying inside the boys' lavatory in the dead of the night?

The sound came again, and this time, there was no mistaking it. It was definitely a sob, broken and desperate, and hearing it made Harry's heart clench. Someone clearly was in distress, and Harry could not help himself as he padded further into the room, his bare feet making no sound against the stone floor. The sounds drew him in. He had to know who it was. Had to know if there was anything he could do to ease their pain.

Finally, his eyes landed on a dark corner, and what he saw almost broke his heart.

A figure was pressed into the corner, small and huddled. Despite the light flooding in from a nearby window, Harry might have missed the small, black form... if not for the head of nearly white hair that was becoming increasingly familiar.

„Malfoy..." Harry whispered in shock. It was almost like seeing the blond hunched over at the Gryffindor table... only this was much, much worse, because he was crying openly, defeat in every line of his body, looking so lost and desperate and utterly _broken,_ and there was no way Harry could just leave him there. All traces of tiredness and the need to use the toilet were suddenly gone, vanished together with any hard feelings he might have ever had towards Malfoy. The only thing left was a desperate wish to help, and it had him kneeling next to Malfoy without a second thought.

This time, he wasted no time to reach out and place one hand on a narrow shoulder, heart clenching once more as he noticed how badly the other boy was shaking. „Malfoy...?"

And the pale face shot up to stare at Harry, tear-tracks etched clearly across snowy skin nearly glowing in the dimn light. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at the sight of Harry, and the brunet flinched, expecting an insult as the other opened his mouth... but all that came out was a gasping tearing free, and the blond dropped his face against his knees once more.

„Shit, Malfoy..." Harry whispered, squeezing the other's shoulder helplessly. „Malfoy, what's wrong...?"

„What's wrong...? What's wrong?!" Malfoy raised his head to glare at Harry again, but the effect was somewhat ruined when even more tears slid down his face. „Everything's wrong! This entire... situation is wrong! I can't be a Gryffindor... I was supposed to be in Slytherin!"

Harry frowned, taken aback. „Um... surely, being a Gryffindor can't be_ that _bad...?" This was what had Malfoy so down? Okay, sure, he had known that Malfoy had expected to be in Slytherin, he could understand that it would be a bit of a shock for the other when he was declared a Gryffindor... but this? Was the proud, cold and controlled boy Harry thought he knew really breaking apart just because he ended up in _another house_?

„You don't understand, Potter!" Malfoy sobbed. He sounded like he wanted to shout, but even now when he was falling to pieces, the blond surprised Harry by having enough control left to keep his voice down. „My entire family was in Slytherin for ages – entire generations of respectable, pure-blooded wizards! I never even _imagined_ being anywhere else but Slytherin. And so did everyone else! And now..."

Malfoy dragged a hand through his hair, his voice suddenly small. „Now, I just don't know what to do anymore. And my parents... god, my father is going to kill me for sure..."

Harry swallowed hard. He wanted to point out that this was unlikely – what kind of parent would kill their child simply for ending up in the 'wrong' house? But then, Harry did not really know much about parents... and he did not know anything about Malfoy's parents in particular. With a start, he realized that he probably did not really know anything about Malfoy, either.

He had always thought Malfoy was like Dudley – a spoiled prat who got anything he ever wanted from his parents. The Dursleys kissed the very ground their son walked on, their precious darling could never do anything wrong in their eyes. Harry thought it was the same for Malfoy, but now, hearing the other's voice break as he mentioned his father, he knew he was probably wrong. He realized that all of this was more to Malfoy's parents – and Malfoy himself – then just 'ending up in the wrong house'.

It filled him with the sudden desire to understand... he wanted to know everything about Malfoy, what made the other tick and what had shaken him so badly, and why. But, most importantly, he desperatedly wished he knew what to do to ease the blond's obvious suffering, because he found he could not bear to watch him like this.

But Harry did not know Malfoy, not really, and he had no idea what to do. It left him feeling helpless, so he did the only thing he could think of: he pulled Malfoy to him and wrapped his arms around the trembling frame, trying to offer as much comfort as he could. „Shhh... it's gonna be okay... you're gonna be alright..."

Even as he said that, he felt incredibly stupid. It was the wrong move, anyway... Malfoy only flinched and pushed Harry off rather violently. He was back on his feet and glaring down at Harry before the other Gryffindor could even blink.

„Fuck you, Potter!" Malfoy hissed, though his voice was barely above a whisper, just loud enough for Harry to hear. „What are you playing at? You made it clear you don't want us to be friends... and I don't need your pity, anyway! Just leave me the fuck alone already!"

With that, Malfoy turned on his heel and stode out of the door with his blond head held high once more, leaving Harry on the cold bathroom floor... alone, confused and feeling like a complete idiot.

It took some time until Harry finally returned to the dorm that night. By then, the drapes on Malfoy's bed were shut tight.

* * *

Somehow, despite everything that happened on this dreadful, horrible day, Draco still managed to fall asleep. The next morning, he woke early, and for a moment, he was severely disoriented... why the hell was everything around him red?... but then, he remembered.

He, Draco Malfoy, was a Gryffindor. Which meant he was also completely and utterly _fucked_.

God, how could this have happened? How had his life become so utterly messed up? Once again, Draco felt the overwhelming urge to scream and throw random stuff. Instead, he opted for dragging himself out of bed, pleased that all of his dorm-mates seem to be fast asleep. Good. That way, he at least did not have to look at their stupid faces on his way to the bathroom. The bathroom... Merlin, the memory of what happened there last night was almost enough to make him falter, part of him wanting nothing more than to run back to his bed and hide under the covers like a child.

Draco could not believe he had let himself go like that. Hot shame flooded his face as he thought about how he had hidden away in a dark corner and cried like a baby. Granted, he was a bit shaken from having his life torn to pieces, and being stuck in Gryffindor with those idiots was almost enough to send _anyone _in their right mind over the edge – but still, Draco was not _anyone_! And neither was he a child, damn it! He was a Malfoy! How could he have let himself loose control?

That in itself was bad enough... but what was worse, he had let another person see him in his desolate state! And not just anyone, but _Harry bloody Potter_! Really, how humiliating could things get?! The only good thing was that Potter was probably the only one... Draco did not think they had been loud enough to draw attention, and he had seen no eavesdroppers on his way back to the dorm, so there was at least a small chance that not everyone in Gryffindor tower knew about his breakdown.

Unless, of course, Potter decided to go blabbing. In that case, it would probably be all over Gryffindor (or rather, the entire bloody _school_) for sure.

Damn, why had he allowed himself such a colossal slip up? He could not afford that, especially not _now_ that he was trapped in the Lion's Den. Surely, Freckles and Ginger would only be too happy to see him suffer, and Draco refused to give them that satisfaction.

Upon reaching the bathroom, Draco groaned at the sight of himself in the nearest mirror, because frankly, he looked a mess: his clothes in disarray (not surprising, considering he fell asleep still wearing them), eyes red-rimmed and lined with dark circles, and his skin was too pale even by his standards.

And worst of all, his hair was a complete and utter disaster, stands that were once slicked back neatly now sticking up in every possibly direction. Honestly, if it would not be for the fact that his hair was actually blond, it could actually have been mistaken for Potter's unruly mob of hair. Which simply would not do – Draco was much too fond of his hair to have it look like that abomination, thank you very much.

It was yet another reason he had to be grateful for managing to wake before the other Gryffindor imbeciles. This way, he could at least make himself presentable before anyone saw him looking like _that_. Not that those freaking Gryffindor idiots would know presentable if it bit them on the arse.

Grabbing a spare uniform from his trunk, he was dismayed to find they had already changed to reflect his new house. The formerly pristine black robes were now stained with scarlet and that ridiculous lion crest, and he seriously considered tearing them to shreds but knowing it would not change anything. Now that he was a Gryffindor, he would have to wear robes like that for the rest of his time at Hogwarts, and there was nothing he could fucking _do_ about it.

Ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pulled them on and went to fix the rest of his appearance. By the time his dorm-mates began to stir, Draco was already impeccably dressed (as much as one could be while wearing Gryffindor robes, anyway) and perfectly groomed. Most importantly, his well-practiced mask was firmly in place once more.

Draco might have been stuck in the Lion's Den, but he still had his pride. No matter what happened, he swore to himself that no one would ever see him break again.

* * *

**And that's it for chapter five. I hope it doesn't suck too terribly... we've been struck by a rather vicious heat wave here (by our standards, anyway), and I'm afraid my brain's been partially melted...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Well, here goes chapter six. Again, sorry for the delay. I haven't given up on this story yet... it's just, Real life can be a bitch, and there are a few things I need to be dealing with right now.**

**Also, I've spent a long time fretting over this chapter, until I finally decided to just throw it out there before I drive myself insane. Just as a warning: this one is going to be pretty hard on Draco, so be prepared. I assure you there's a reason why I'm doing things this way, and I promise things are going to get better for him... even if they might have to get worse first.**

**Again, much love to everyone who favorited, put this story on alert, or encouraged me to keep writing. I'm glad you like my story. And for all the others... well, I'm sorry if you hated _Finding Courage, _but hey, I guess it's impossible to write a story that will appeal to everyone out there.**

**I do appreciate suggestions and constuctive criticism. And yes, I know I tend to write in long, complicated sentences that might be quite cumbersome to read. I've been trying to restrain myself a bit, but I found that if I try too hard, everything just starts sounding weird. So I'm afraid you'll have to bear with me on this. Or not, as no one is forcing you to continue reading. ^.^**

**Also, someone mentioned that _Finding Courage_ reminded him of one or two older stories and whether it was a re-write or just inspired by them. Unfortunately, you didn't mention which stories, ****and with the sheer volume of Harry Potter fanfictions out there, I'll freely admit to having read only a very small percentage of them all****. So I have bo idea which stories you mean. I know I said 're-write' in the summary, but that was referring to the original Harry Potter storyline, not another fanfiction. Still, I will admit that there was one story that inspired me.**

**If someone is interested in learning more, what follows is an explanation of how _Finding Courage_ came to be. If you're not interested, ot just bored of my ramblings at this point, just skip ahead to the beginning of this chapter.**

**First, I've always been a Drarry shipper. I just love the dynamics that these two have even in the books: two boys from entirely different backgrounds, from opposite sides, rivals who hate each other's guts... and yet, fate always seems to throw them together. It starts right in the beginning when Draco is the first of his future classmates Harry meets, and it continues right up to the end. Harry even used _Draco's_ wand to defeat Voldemort, for crying out loud!**

**Second, I enjoy reading and writing fanfiction, and I noticed there were a lot of Slytherin Harry stories out there. And so, I started to wonder... what if things were the other way around? What if Draco was put in Gryffindor? Unfortunately, the only story with a Gryffindor Draco I found was an oneshot I stumbled across on deviantart, aptly titled _What if Draco Malfoy was sorted into Gryffindor? _It covers the Sorting ceremony and Draco crying in his bed later at night because he's afraid his parents will hate him, and Harry talking to him and making him feel better. Sadly, it does not go beyond that, which I thougt was a shame, and what prompted me to start _Finding Courage_, because I wanted to take things further. I wanted to explore how being Gryffindor would affect Draco, his life, and his relationship with Harry.**

**Also,_ Finding Courage_ was in part inspired by all those 'Eight Year' stories where everyone returns to Hogwarts and the entire school hates Draco for having been a Death Eater. And finally, it partially draws on my own experiences with being an outcast during my own High School years.**

**I realize there might be other, perhaps better, Gryffindor Draco stories out there. Again, considering how many Harry Potter fanfictions exist, I'm pretty sure there are and I just haven't found them yet. _Finding Courage_ is just my own attempt at writing one.**

**And now, here is chapter six. Hope you'll like it, or at least don't end up hating it to much.**

* * *

_"You're too important for anyone  
__You play the role of all you long to be  
__But I, I know who you really are  
__You're the one who cries when you're alone_

_But where will you go  
__With no one left to save you from yourself  
__You can't escape  
__You can't escape_

_You think that I can't see right through your eyes  
__Scared to death to face reality  
__No one seems to hear your hidden cries  
__You're left to face yourself alone_

_But where will you go  
__With no one left to save you from yourself  
__You can't escape the truth_

_~ Evanescence, „Where Will You Go"_

* * *

Finding Courage: Chapter Six – Where Will You Go

The next morning, Harry nearly overslept. Which was not that much of a surprise really, considering he had been up for hours after what he had begun to consider as 'the bathroom incident' , too many things on his mind for him to fall asleep. In the end, it had probably been pure exhaustion dragging him under.

And now, while Harry hurriedly tugged on his school clothes, his gaze somehow landed on Malfoy's bed, and he noticed that it was already neatly made, its occupant nowhere in sight. Worry pooled somewhere in his guts, and Harry could not help but remember how desperate, how _broken_ the other had seemed the night before. Not a surprise, either, seeing as the sight of Malfoy crying had been one of the things that had haunted him all night.

Granted, Malfoy had rebuffed Harry's attempts to comfort him – rather rudely so – but seeing him like _that_ had shaken Harry, and he could not help but wonder how the blond was doing now.

„First breakfast in Hogwarts, eh?" Ron interrupted Harry's troubled thoughts. The red-head had overslept, too... but certainly for different reasons than Harry. Even now, he seemed completely oblivious to his friend's plight, giving Harry a huge grin as he struggled into his own clothes. „Hope breakfast is as good as dinner last night..."

„Hm." Harry mumbled, finally able to shake himself out of his thoughts enough to finally adress another one of the many things that had been bothering him all night. „By the way, Ron – why were you and Seamus ganging up on Malfoy last night?"

Ron stared at him as if Harry had grown multiple heads. „Seriously, mate? He's a concieted, arrogant bastard! And he called Dean a... a..."

„Mud-blood?" Harry supplied.

„Yeah, that!" Ron gesticulated widly. „I should have punched the shit out of him, the fucking little son of a..."

„But what does it mean, calling someone a mud-blood?" Harry quickly cut in, hoping to stop his friend's tirade.

It worked. Ron broke off and stared at Harry, nearly walking into the door as they finally made to leave their dorm. „You don't know?"

In response, Harry rolled his eyes at his friend. „No, Ron, I don't. Grew up with muggles, remember?"

„Oh. Right. Sorry." said Ron, deflating a little. „Well, it's... uhm, it's complicated. Look, there are some wizards who think they are better than others because they are what's called '_pure-bloods_'. Means that they have only wizarding anchestors. Because, well, some of the old wizarding families despise muggles. They think wizards shouldn't marry muggles because they think it somehow 'pollutes' the wizarding bloodlines. Which is all a huge piece of crap, if you ask me, but that's how they are. And they really, absolutely _hate _wizards who com from purely muggle families."

Again, the red-head gesticulated as they began the long trek down the Shifting stairs, to the Great Hall where breakfast would hopefully still be waiting. „You know, muggle-borns. _That's _what it means to call someone mud-blood. Dirty blood, common blood. It's a really foul name for someone who's muggle-born."

Harry nodded to himself. Yes, he could see now why calling someone 'mud-blood' was a ghastly thing to do. And yet, he could not help but frown. Something still did not add up. „Okay, so Malfoy should not have said that. But Ron, you and Seamus were already on his case before he used that word." The brunet pointed out.

His friend gave him yet another incredulous look. „Well, he's still an arrogant bastard. Not to mention a slimy Slytherin snake."

Harry snorted. „A _Slytherin_ snake? Did you forget that the Sorting Head placed him in Gryffindor?"

„Well, yeah." Ron shuddered at the thought. „Really, I have no idea how _that _could happen. I mean, his whole _family _has been in Slytherin for _ages_, and everyone knows those snakes just can't be trusted. Hell, he probably had the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor on purpose just so he could spy on us or something."

Now, it was Harry's turn to level an incredulous stare at his red-haired friend. „What? Ron, that's bullshit! Didn't you see his face when the Hat placed him in Gryffindor? He looked so shocked, I thought he might have a heart attack! There's no way he did that on purpose. Besides..."

Harry cut himself off and bit his lip. Besides, he had found Malfoy breaking down in the bathroom just hours before, and if there had been any doubt in Harry's mind that the blond had ever wanted (or even expected) to be a Gryffindor, the sound of those desperate sobs would have cleared it away.

But he felt as if he could not tell Ron that. It felt too intimate, sharing what had clearly been such a private moment. Harry did not know that much about Malfoy, but he was pretty sure the proud boy would not want for anyone to know that he had been caught in such a moment of weakness...

„Besides what?" Ron demanded, clearly agitated. Before Harry could even try to come up with an inconspicious answer, his red-headed friend already went on: „Okay, say he didn't plan to be in Gryffindor. That still doesn't mean he won't spy on us now that he is. _Besides_, Harry, it's _Malfoy_! He's a foul prat, and his family? Well, remember what I told you about the old pure-blood families? The Malfoys are exactly like that. Actually, they're the worst! They even joined You-Know-Who because of it! And judging from the fact that Malfoy is already running around calling people... well, you-know-what, _he's_ like that, too, so Merlin, Harry, why are you even trying to defend him?!"

Ron paused to catch his breath, and Harry bit his lip again, because he had nothing to offer in response.

Why was he trying to defend Malfoy? Ron was right, the blond was a prat. Plus, he had called Dean a mud-blood, and Harry remembered how the blond had stated that muggle-borns should never be allowed at Hogwarts, so Ron was probably also right with how Malfoy seemed to share his familiy's attitude – an attitude that Harry would not hesitate to call racist.

And yet...

And yet, seeing Ron and Seamus gang up on Malfoy had shaken him. It hit too close to home, reminding Harry of all the times Dudley and others had ganged up on _him_, and Harry just could not help it. He knew what it meant to be bullyied, and his first instinct had been to protect the blond. Even if Malfoy was undeniably foul, and Harry's instincts were probably sadly misplaced, he still stood up for Malfoy because... because Harry felt it was the right thing to do. And, if Harry was completely honest with himself, maybe also a little bit because he wished that someone would have stood up for _him_ whenever Dudley had mocked or hit him.

Besides, seeing Malfoy cry... it had been like a stab to his heart.

But he could not tell any of this to Ron. He just _could not_, even if he knew the red-head was his friend. Malfoy's feelings aside, the entire situation was a bit too personal for Harry, either... too close to all those horrible things from his past he was not ready to share yet. It would touch on wounds that were still too fresh, scars that ran too deep.

And so, the only thing Harry could come up with was: „It just... you know, it didn't seem right, seeing you round up Malfoy. Even if he is a foul git."

Ron stared at him strangely, but fortunately, Harry was spared from having to answer because they finally reached the Great Hall, and the sight of the lavish breakfast laid out there was enough to blow all thought of Malfoy straight out of Ron's red head.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. There was just so much to learn and so many things to see at Hogwarts, and Harry was lucky if he got a few minutes in between to catch his breath.

Magic, it turned out, was much more than waving a wand and muttering strange words, and that showed in the many different classes they had to take.

There was Herbology, learning about a wild variety of outlandish plant life, how to take care of them, what to use them for, and most importantly, how to not get your head torn off somewhere along the way. Magical plants, it turned out, were often vicious and surprisingly mobile, and also more aware of their surrounding that you would expect from mere plants.

There was Charms, which was all about learning different spells and incantations... and yes, that was basically waving your wand and muttering strange words, but somehow, it was still _more_ that that. Because if you did not do it right, the whole thing might just blow up in your face (quite literally so, as Seamus had unwittingly demonstrated once or twice.)

There was Astronomy, learning about planets and moons. It was one of the few subjects that were not too dangerous... unless you were afraid of heights (Neville was...), considering it was taught atop one of the castle's highest tower.

History Of Magic was another one of the not dangerous subjects. On the contrary, it was just boring everyone to tears... but hey, what could you expect when the teacher was an actual _ghost_ who had been so set in his lectures and routines that he somehow managed to not even notice he had _died_?

Also, Defence Against The Dark Arts turned out to be a huge disappointment to everyone. Sure, learning to defend themselves from scary creatures and evil spells sounded rather exciting, but somehow it all was not very convincing when your teacher was Quirell, nervous and stuttering and always jumping at the smallest things, possibly even including his own shadow.

And finally, there was Transfiguration, which was not boring or disappointing at all. Actually, it was a rather fascinating subject. Unfortunately, it was also quite trying, and thus rather high on the list of subjects that Harry thought he was probably going to fail. Plus, it was taught by Professor McGonagall, who turned out to indeed be a force to reckon with. In their very first transfiguration lesson, Harry and Ron had been late, huffing and puffing as they ran into the classroom. They were initially relieved to see no sign of McGonagall... until a tabby cat jumped off the teacher's desk and suddenly _transformed _into their Transfiguration teacher!

Ron had immediately declared that feat to be „Wicked!", and Harry swore he had actually seen a smile flit across McGonagall's face at the praise... right before she threatened to turn on of them into a pocket watch so they would never be late again.

Of course, in order to attend classes, you had to get there first. And Harry quickly discovered that navigating Hogwarts castle was a feat in itself, because_ nothing_ in the entire school ever seemed to stay in place. He already knew that even some of the staircases liked to shift, but that was not even half of it.

The people, animals and whatnot occupying the many paintings could not just talk (or make other noises, depending on whether they were actually people). They could also move between the many different frames. Harry could also have sworn that some of the suits of armor and statues lining the halls could actually _walk_. He never really saw on of them _do_ it, but he knew that they seemed to turn up in different places all the time, so yeah.

Add to that doors that would not open unless asked politely, and some doors that were not actual doors but walls only pretending to be doors, what seemed like a myriad of secret alcoves and passageways hidden behind portraits, tapestries and other stuff, and you would get a tiny idea of the extremely difficult task that was finding your way through Hogwarts castle. Honestly, Harry loved Hogwarts, but occasionally, he was struck by the feeling that the _entire bloody building_ was out to get him!

Peeves the poltergeist was _definitely_ out to get Harry... but then, Peeves was out to get just about every single student in the school (as well as some of the teachers!), so he suspected it was nothing personal.

Then, there was the Hogwarts caretaker, Mr Filch. An eternal arch-enemy to the chaos-inducing polterggeist, Filch was an old and rather creepy man. Also, he hated students just as much as Peeves, so he was always seen shuffling about the school, keeping an eye out for students breaking the rules while muttering about how much he wanted to chain them up and hang them from the ceilings by their wrists. In their very first week, Ron and Harry already had a rather nasty run-in with the old creep when they had gotten lost (again...) and Filch had just come across them trying to enter what turned out to be the Forbidden third floor corridor.

They had tried to explain that they had just been lost and actually did not have any idea where they were, but Filch had not believed them. Because, of course, in his eyes, all children were tiny little _demons_ from the deepest circle of _hell_ (or something like that), and their entire purpose was to cause mayhem and make Filch's life miserable. So, of course, Harry and Ron could not simply have been lost, no, they must have been planning something evil and nefarious, whatever_ that_ may be.

Ron later swore that they barely escaped with their lives intact. Harry wasn't convinved it had been quite _that_ bad, but he still thought that Filch could probably benefit from some serious therapy... or even better yet, early retirement. How could someone who was so clearly deranged even be allowed to work around children in the first place?

And once Harry had gotten past the castle, Peeves, Filch, and his classes, there were still the other students. Students who had somehow decided that, in a castle full of wondrous and fascinating things, Harry was _the_ thing to stare at. Damn, how he hated it when they crowded together in the corridors, when they pointed fingers and craned their necks and whispered to eachother...

„There he is!"

„Harry Potter..."

„Can you see his scar?"

„Do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like...?"

Honestly, did they never consider that Harry had eyes and ears and a brain to notice their whispers and blatant staring, as well as feelings that might be affected by their actions? Well, obviously not, because they kept behaving like they were at a zoo, and he was the main exhibit. It was rather embarassing, to have everyone's attention focused on him like that... but Harry also found that he was quickly starting to get annoyed by their continued thoughtless behaviour. As days went on, he found himself fighting the urge to constantly glare at everyone in sight, instead preferring to keep his head down and try to ignore them. Better not to draw even more attention to himself, no matter how much he wanted to shout for everyone to just get lost, and could they please _mind their own fucking business_?!

So yeah, it was safe to say that Harry was pretty busy and rather stressed out, and very much looking forward to the weekend when he and Ron made their way to the Great Hall on Friday. His mood lifted considerably when they managed to do so without getting lost even once. And it only got better when the post arrived.

The ceiling in the Great Hall was covered in clouds today, matching the overcast sky outside. However, if Harry looked closely enough, he could just barely make out the arches and vaults above, proving that Hermione Granger was once again right and there actually was a ceiling. A light drizzle fell from the sky outside as well as the enchanted ceiling, but the rain inside the Hall evaporated long before it ever touched the students, something Harry was immensely grateful about... it would clearly suck if they had to eat their meals while getting soaked.

On some unspoken signal, dozens of owls started to pour in, swooping over the student body to drop off letters and parcells. Hedwig was usually among them, though she never brought any mail. Harry was perfectly fine with that – the only people outside of Hogwarts he had any connection to were the Dursleys, and he did not expect them to write, much less send a letter via owl.

Usually, Hedwig would just perch on his shoulder for a while while he stroked her feathers and fed her bits and pieces of his breakfast. This day, however, was different.

He was genuinely surprised when she dropped a small piece of parchment – not even a letter, more of a note, really – in front of him. Harry thanked her and gave her a large strip of bacon before unfolding the note, curious as to who would need to send him one.

Answering that question proved to be quite a bit of a challenge, unfortunately, between the almost unreadable writing and the many misspellings - but with Ron's help, Harry finally managed to figure out. It was an invitation from Hagrid, asking if Harry wanted to come over for tea in the afternoon.

„Cool." Ron commented. „Can I come, too?"

„Sure." Harry smiled, happy at the thought of seeing Hagrid again. Now, he just had to get through their morning lessons first.

He cast one look at his schedule, and his good mood evaporated.

„Shit." Harry cursed.

Their first class was double potions... with the Slytherins.

So far, Gryffindor and Slytherin had not shared any classes, something Harry (and most of the other Gryffindors, he was sure) had been secretly glad about. Sure, there was a lot he still had to learn about the wizarding world... but even so, it was impossible to miss the fierce rivalry between those two houses. So yeah, with all the animosity between them, Harry definitely did not look forward to sharing classes with the Slytherins. But then, it would probably have been to much to hope they could avoid the house of the snakes forever.

But even more so than the Slytherin students, Harry dreaded facing Snape. More than once, he had heard other Gryffindors and even some students from other houses (sans Slytherin, of course) complain about how mean and unfair Snape was. And that aside, Harry was already wary of the Potions master because of the scar burning incident, so it was only understandable that the prospect of spending two whole hours stuck in a classroom with Snape _and_ the Slytherins filled him with a sense of dread.

„Shit." Ron echoed his statement when Harry showed them their schedule.

_Shit_, it turned out, was a pretty apt description of how their first ever Potions class went.

The lessons were down in the dungeons, where it was cold and damp and rather gloomy, and that only added to Harry's ever growing sense of doom. The weird plant and animal parts floating around in glass jars all over the classroom did not help, either. And finally, there was Snape himself.

On the strike of the bell, the Potions teacher swooped in, black robes billowing around him in a way that made him look rather like an over-sized, greasy-haired bat, and immediately adressed the class: „There will be no wand waving or mumbled incantations in this class, so I expect that very few you will ever understand the true beauty that is the exact art of potion making. I can teach you to brew glory, bottle fame, even put a stopper to death... if you don't turn out to be a bunch of idiot dunderheads like the ones I usually have the misfortune to teach."

After that encouraging little speech, Snape went through the register, only to pause when he came to Harry's name. A rather ugly sneer appeared on his face. „Ah, yes, Harry Potter, our new... _celebrity_."

With the way he said that word, it might well have been an insult. Harry felt his face flush as all the Slytherins in class burst out laughing. Malfoy snickered to himself, the only Gryffindor to do so, and Harry shot him a glare.

Those past few days, Harry had barely seen the blond. Sure, Malfoy turned up for classes and most meals and slept in the dormitory at night, but even then, he usually tended to mostly avoid people. What Malfoy did in his spare time, Harry had no idea. The blond was rarely ever seen anywhere in the Gryffindor common room, and well, Harry could not exactly blame him for that.

Turned out that Ron and Seamus were not the only ones who had misgivings about Malfoy becoming a Gryffindor. There were many who thought the blond had no business being there, who thought that he was somehow out to spy on them... or sabotage them or inconvenience the red house in any other way. And, being Gryffindors, they did not exactly keep quite about their misgivings. In fact, they were rather vocal, and most of them had no qualms on voicing them straight to Malfoy's face, either, essentially making the blond an outcast in Gryffindor house. Not a surprise, then, that the pale boy obviously had chosen to avoid being in the company of his housemates.

It would have been so easy for Harry to feel sorry for the blond. Sure, with what he had learned about all the hostility and outright hatred between Gryffindor and Slytherin, he understood a little better now why people were wary of someone from a decidedly Slytherin family joining Gryffindor. But still, the Sorting Hat had decided that it was where Malfoy belonged, so people should probably start getting used to it. Besides, Harry was not so sure he liked the very idea of people hating eachother just because they belonged to different houses, anyway.

Only, whatever sympathy Harry might feel for Malfoy was somewhat ruined by the fact that the blond usually gave just as good as he got. Malfoy was an arrogant bastard with a nastily sharp tongue. He had called people mud-bloods more than once, insulted their families, their intelligence, and just about everything else. He relentlessly picked on Ron for being poor and he never stopped mocking Neville for being clumsy. Actually, with all the cruel stuff that regularly poured from Malfoy's mouth, Harry was genuinely surprised that no one had punched him in his pointy face yet.

It would have been very easy for Harry, then, to actually hate Malfoy, only...

Only Harry could not forget the sight of the blond crying inside the bathroom, so desolate and alone, and he found he could not find it in himself to really hate him. Surely, Malfoy was a foul, arrogant prick... but even so, Harry could not help the odd pang of sympathy that occasionally crept up on him when he thought of the blond. Or the occasional desire to protect Malfoy, or wanting to reach out to make sure the other was feeling alright, no matter how misguided such feelings might be.

Because clearly, they were misguided. Harry had actually tried reaching out a few times. Malfoy had rudely shot him down each and every time.

Ron thought that Malfoy spent all his free time hanging out with the Slytherins, but Harry was not so sure. He had never seen Malfoy talk to or even go anywhere near any Slytherin, and the Slytherins seemed quite content to avoid him in turn. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who had seemed to be all but glued to Malfoy's side before the Sorting Ceremony now kept their distance. In fact, they actually had taken to following another boy around, a Slytherin whose name Harry learned was Theodore Nott.

Besides, Malfoy was a Gryffindor. Considering the rivalry between both houses, would it not make more sense for the other Slytherins to hate him...?

A nudge from Ron apruptly brought Harry back to the Potions classroom. With a start, he realized that Snape had finished with the register and was now looking expectantly at the Boy-Who-Lived.

Once again, Harry felt his face flush.

„I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't quite catch that..."

Snape fixed him with a steely stare. His eyes were as black as his hair and full of ice. „Don't think it necessary to pay attention in class, do you?"

Harry blanched at that. „No, Professor, I was just..."

„I asked what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood." the Potions master interrupted him.

_Root of what to an infusion of what?!_ Harry had no idea. As he glanced around helplessly, he noticed that most of the other students looked just as clueless as he felt, save for two people: Hermione Granger's hand had shot up in the air as soon as the question was out of Snape's mouth. More surprising was the fact that Malfoy's hand was also raised.

Snape's attention, however, remained fixed solely on Harry.

The Gryffindor swallowed. „I don't know, sir."

The black-haired teacher sneered at that. „Well, well. Clearly, fame isn't everything... Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar, Potter?"

Trying his best to ignore the Slytherins laughing at him (especially Nott, Crabbe and Goyle who were by far the loudest), Harry nevertheless felt his face flame. Because, once again, he could not come up with a better answer than: „I don't know, sir." Hoenestly, he had no idea what a bezoar even was.

Snape's sneer seemed stuck to his face, maybe even permananently so, and Harry felt a flash of anger. It seemed that the Potions teacher had singled him out for some reason, but Harry had no idea what it was. Why the hell did he get the odd feeling that Snape really, really hated him?

His anger made him bold. Before he could stop himself, he added: „But maybe someone else knows, so why don't you ask the others, Professor?"

That at least wiped the sneer right of the professor's face, but the nasty glare Harry got instead was not much better. Still, Snape finally, finally took his eyes off Harry, who almost sighed in relief.

By now, Hermione Granger had raised her hand as far as it could go without her leaving her seat, but Snape completely ignored her as he scanned the rows of students. Finally, he zeroed in on the only other raised hand in the room. „Yes, Malfoy?"

„Asphodel and wormwood together make a sleeping potion so strong it's also known as Draught of the Living Dead. And a bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat that serves to counter-act most poisons." the blond answered calmly.

Snape fixed him with his cold black eyes for a few long moment before finally nodding. „Correct."

He then turned his attention back to the rest of the class. „Well, why aren't you writing that down?"

This had everyone diving for parchment and quills (because, Hogwarts being a wizarding school, they could not just use pens and paper...), but the sudden commotion was not enough to drone out Snape's voice. „And a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."

Yeah, Snape definately _hated_ Harry.

The Potions master then had them pair up and brew a (supposedly) simple potion to cure boils. Soon, the classroom was filled with steam and the sound of cauldrons bubbling as Snape waved between the pairs to monitor their progress. He was almost predatory in the way he stalked around, criticising just about everyone but being especially harsh on the students in red. However, he praised two of the Slytherins – Nott and Zabini – for their efforts before he moved on to Malfoy.

The blond had not been able to find a partner – in fact, he had not even really tried to – and was working alone. Harry almost expected Snape to dish out some of the same harsh criticism and derogarory comments he had bestowed on all the Gryffindors. Instead, Snape just silently looked at Malfoy's potion before he gave the blond a sharp nod and moved on.

„That was odd." Ron whispered. Harry was about to agree – why had Snape been mean to every single Gryffindor but not Malfoy? – when a scream tore through the classroom.

Next to Harry and Ron, Seamaus and Neville had been working on their own potion. And somehow, one of them (Harry could have sworn it was Neville, because if it had been Seamus, the whole thing would have blown up) had managed to not only melt their cauldron but also spill the potion. Seamus had escaped most of it save for some stains on his robe, but poor Neville was on the floor, moaning as painful boils burst out all over his body.

„Idiot boy!" Snape snarled as he strode over, completely unsympathetic to Neville's plight. „I guess you added the porcupine quills _before_ taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered, and Snape vanished the potion and the ruined cauldron before snapping at Seamus: „Well, what are you standing around for? Take him to the hospital wing!"

He then rounded on Harry and Ron. „Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Are you just stupid, or did you think you'd look better if he messed up? That's another point you lost for Gryffindor."

_What the fuck?!_ Okay, that was just completely and utterly unfair. Harry was just about to protest strongly when Ron ellbowed him. „Harry, don't. I heard Snape can get quite nasty when provoked."

Well, if Snape's behaviour so far did not count as _nasty_, then Harry didn't know what would. And Harry had not even _done_ anything to warrant that treatment. Snape had just been on his case ever since he walked in the door. What the hell was his fucking problem? Why did he seem to hate Harry so much?

Harry was only too happy when they were finally able to leave the gloomy dungeons behind. He and Ron left the school and went outside to visit Hagrid, and Harry was grateful for the fresh air after two hours spent in the stifling, potion fumes infested classroom.

Hagrid lived in a wooden hut at the very edgy of the Forbidden Forest. When Harry knocked on the door, all hell seemed to break lose inside as something heavy threw itself at the door, scratching and barking frantically. Over that noise, Hagrid could be heard shouting: „Back, Fang! Ger back!"

Finally, the ruckus subsided somewhat and the door finally opened to reveal Hagrid's hairy face, which broke out in a huge smile at the sight of them. „Glad ye could make it Harry. And Ron, too! Come one, ger in! I made ye some tea!"

Obediently, both boys stepped inside. The source of the earlier commotion became obvious when a large black boarhound bounded at them and immediately tried to lick their faces.

As promised, Hagrid had made tea, as well as rock cakes... but Harry decided to skip out on those after the first one nearly cost him a tooth or two. Instead, they just drank tea with their giant friend, talking about this and that – school stuff, the weather – while Fang alternated between both of them for cuddles while drooling all over their robes.

Before long, Harry found himself complaining about the disaster that had been the earlier Potions lesson.

„I wouldn' worry 'bout that." Hagrid tried to re-assure him. „Snape jus' don't like anyone much."

_He seemed to like the Slytherins well enough_, Harry thought, _and he probably likes Malfoy, considering he didn't pick on him even though he's actually in Gryffindor. _Aloud, he said: „But Hagrid... he just didn't just 'not like me'. More like, he seemed to genuinely_ hate _me!"

„So what?" Ron cut in. „Hagrid's right, it's Snape, he hates just about everyone, especially if they're Gryffindor. He's always taking points from Fred and George, too. You're nothing special, mate."

„Listen ter yer friend here, Harry!" Hagrid nodded in agreement with what Ron had said... but Harry noticed that, for some reason, his giant friend could not quite meet his eyes.

Harry was still convinced there had to be more to Snape's rather obvious and blatant dislike of him, but he decided to let it go. Instead, he picked up an issue of the Daily Prophet Hagrid had left lying about. _GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_, the headline read in big, bold black letters.

Harry vaguely remembered Ron telling him someone had tried to break into the wizarding bank, but he could not recall any details. So he skimmed the article... and his heart skipped a beat.

_Nothing stolen_, the article said. _The vault in question had been emptied earlier that day_... now that seemed like a lucky cooincidence. But what really floored Harry was the date of the attempted break-in.

July 31st. „Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed. „That break-in at Gringotts, it was on July 31st! That's my birthday! That's the day the two of us were at Gringotts, too!"

Hagrid did not reply. In fact, he suddenly seemed very busy with the tea kettle. But he did not have to say anything... Harry remembered their visit at Gringotts only too well. And he also remembered the grubby little package Hagrid had removed from vault 713 as part of that 'top secret' Hogwarts business of his. He had, so to speak, emptied vault 713.

Was that the vault the thieves had been at? If so, they must have been after whatever was inside that package, but why?

What could be so damned valuable – powerful, important, whatever – that someone would risk breaking into _Gringotts_ and try to get past the _dragons _and god-knows-what else just to get their hands on it?

He did not try to pester Hagrid for information; the gamekeeper seemed insistent on keeping the whole thing secret, so he probably would not tell Harry more. Still, Harry could not get the package out of his head. By the time they said goodbye and were heading towards the castle, his mind was swarming with questions.

It certainly gave him something to think about besides how much Snape seemed to hate him. Or how he really needed to wash his robes after Fang slobbered all over them.

* * *

A week later, their second potions lesson was no better than the first one. Snape was still being jerk. He still blatantly favored the Slytherins and was mean to every single Gryffindor except Malfoy. And he still hated Harry.

He and Ron were just cleaning up their spilled potion – their cauldron had bubbled over during the lesson – and both of them were eager to finally get away when a sudden commotion drew their attention towards the door.

It seemed as if though Malfoy and Nott had attempted to leave the classroom at the same time and had ended up bumping into the other. Now, both boys stood there and glared at eachother. If looks could kill, both of them would have dropped dead in an instant.

„Stay away from me, you Gryffindor filth!" Nott snapped. Harry swallowed. It seemed that his suspicion that the Slytherins might hate Malfoy for being a Gryffindor might have been correct...

Not to be outdone, Malfoy immediately snapped back, grey eyes flasing with rage: „It's not my problem if you don't watch where you are going, you dimwit!"

„What's that, Malfoy?" Nott's voice was dripping with false sweetness, even as he sneered at the blond. „Where are your manners? Your mother would be so disappointed. Clearly, all these uncivilicized Gryffindors are such a bad influence on you."

He took a step forward, as did Crabbe and Goyle, lingering one step behind him as they always seemed to do this days, and Harry froze. This was not looking good. There was something about the three Slytherins' attitude that just screamed of trouble.

„Guess it's time to teach you some proper respect, Draco. What do you think, boys?" Nott sneered, confirming Harry's misgivings. It seemed to be the signal for Crabbe and Goyle to move to his side and crack their knuckles.

„Don't you _dare_, you filthy bastards!" Malfoy hissed, voice low and dangerous. But even though he kept a straight face, his skin did pale quite a bit.

Three against one. Plus, Crabbe and Goyle were both taller, broader and stronger than the slender blond. Malfoy would not stand a chance, and judging from the way the color had drained from his face, he knew it, too.

As did the Slytherins, whose mouths had drawn up into cruel smiles.

And so did Harry, whose stomach flipped unpleasantly at the thought of Malfoy taking a beating, and by three people, nonetheless. Anxiously, the raven-haired Gryffindor looked around the classroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of black eyes and greasy hair. For once, he found himself wishing for Snape's intimidating presence. Sure, the potions master was a veritable asshole, but he was still a teacher, and Harry was pretty sure he would not let his students beat the shit out of eachother.

But of course, now that Harry needed him, the greasy-haired bat was nowhere to be seen. All of the other students had left, too. There was just Harry, Ron and Malfoy, alone with the three Slytherins.

Harry knew he had to do something. True, Malfoy may be an arrogant bastard and a racist prat, but those three looked like they wanted to beat him into a pulp and enjoy themselves while doing so. And Harry would not – _could not_ – idly stand by while the blond was hurt.

He was a Gryffindor, after all. And so was Malfoy, so damn it. Harry was ready to throw caution to the wind and probably do something reckless.

But, to his eternal surprise, Ron was quicker. By the time Harry was on the move, the red-head had already planted himself next to Malfoy and was glaring at the three Slytherins. „Why don't you just go and slither back into your stinking hole, you slimy snakes?!" he snarled at them.

Malfoy's head whipped around so fast it probably hurt, and he was gaping at Ron with his mouth open. He looked every bit as confused as Harry felt... not that he did not appreciate what his red-haired friend was doing, but why was _Ron_, of all people, defending Malfoy?

Quickly shaking off his daze, Harry moved to stand next to Ron. For now, he would just support his friend and help Malfoy. He could ask Ron if he had been struck in the head by a bludger (yes, Harry was learning Quidditch metaphors all right, how could he not when sharing a dorm with a bunch of boys obsessed with the wizarding sport) later.

Their numbers were even now... but Crabbe and Goyle were still bigger, broader and meaner than any of the Gryffindors. Harry found he did not quite like their odds, but it was too late to back out now. Not that Harry would do that, anyway... that would be an act of cowardice, and besides, he would not - could not - just leave Malfoy to fend for himself.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Slytherins and Gryffindors faced off against eachother... but before anyone could move, a cold voice cut through the air. „What are you still doing in here? Get _out_!"

Harry never imagined he could be so glad to see Snape. With the potions master now breathing down their collective necks, there was not much the Slytherins could do except shoot the Gryffindors nasty looks as the marched out the door and disappeared down the corridor.

Once the three Gryffindors had left the classroom, Malfoy turned to face Ron, mouth already open with a question... and again, Ron was quicker. Pointing an accusing finger at the blond, he ground out: „Don't get me wrong, Malfoy. This doesn't change anything!" before turning on his heel and stalking away, leaving Malfoy to stare after him in obvious disbelief, mouth still hanging open.

Harry wanted to ask Malfoy if he was okay, but he also felt he really, really needed to talk to Ron, so he just shot the confused looking blond an apologethic glance before taking off after his red-head friend. His red-headed friend who clearly must have gone mad.

„Ron! Ron, wait!" Harry called out, hurrying to catch up with the other's much longer strides. „What the hell was that? Did you just defend Malfoy?"

„Yeah, I guess." the red-head said and shrugged. „Well, I couldn't just let those filthy snakes beat him into a pulp, right?"

Those were Harry's exact sentiments, too... and yet, it was a little odd, hearing it from Ron, who was always very vocal about his clear dislike of the blond. „Uh, Ron? You're the one who's always going on about how Malfoy is a snake, too."

„Well, yeah." Ron scratched the back of his head and finally slowed down, making it easier for Harry to keep pace. „Malfoy _is_ a snake... but, he's a Gryffindor, too. He's like, _our_ snake, you know?"

„Ron... that doesn't really make sense." Harry pointed out.

„Hm, yeah." Ron nodded, and a thoughtful expression crossed his features. „Whatever. I wonder, what's for dinner tonight?"

Harry groaned at that. „Seriously, do you ever stop thinking about food?"

„Lemme think... nope, I don't!" Ron grinned cheerfully, and Harry shoved him.

* * *

Later that night, a certain blond Gryffindor once more laid on his bed, glaring up at his canopy in what was quickly becoming a part of his daily routine, and wasn't that a depressing thought. Once more, he considered to just set the whole damn bed on on fire, hideous scarlet curtains and all... after getting out of bed, of course. Draco was troubled and angry and unhappy, but he was not suicidal, thank you very much.

His mood only got worse when he thought back to that incident after potions class. Draco gave in to his anger as he punched his pillow, and yes, that was clearly an immature and rather childish thing to do, but hey, it was in the middle of the night and his drapes were shut tight, so it was not as if anybody would see him do it. Besides, punching pillows was definitely better and a lot less flashy than setting fire to his bed... even when surrounded by Gryffindor dimwits, a burning bed might draw a bit of attention.

What happened after Potions class had shaken Draco more than he wanted to admit, and that pissed him of. Because really, he should have seen it coming. Being prepared was a Slytherin trait, and Draco was not going to let go of it simply because some stupid and possibly delusional hat declared him a Gryffindor. He had been well aware of the insidious whispers from the Slytherins that seemed to follow him everywhere, so he should have expected that they would turn on him. And yet, he had not expected that they would do it quite that openly... or that it would come from Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, of all people.

Maybe he should have seen that one coming, too. After all, all the pure-blood kids (especially those from higher-ranking families) were taught from an early age that purebloods usually did not make friends simply for the sake of friendship. Every possible friendship, every person, every relationship was to be elevated in terms of how useful they could be. It was something that had played out in Draco's favor so far... being the only heir of one of the most noble and influential pureblood families, he had easily found himself on top of the food chain.

Until that bloody blasted hat ruined it all.

He had been worried that being placed in Gryffindor would seriously hurt his standing with the other pure-bloods, and it seemed he had been right. Looking at it from a Slytherin point of view, it only made sense that Nott would step up and take advantage of Draco's fall from grace. It was clever, and had things been different, Draco might even have congratulated Theo for such a cunning move. As for Crabbe and Goyle... well, those two were just idiots needing direction, so with Draco out of the game, it was only natural they would turn to Nott instead.

Draco was aware of all those things. He was only too aware of the workings of pureblood society, and yet, having those three – boys he basically grew up with, for Merlin's sake – turn on him still hurt. His pride, for once. But what was even worse was that some small, stupid and unduely sentimental part of his stupid bleeding heart could not help but hurt in an enturely different and rather disconcerting way, a part that screamed about his friends betraying him.

Which was stupid. Stupid and sentimental, and Draco punched his pillow again. Damn. Maybe Theo was right and being around those Gryffindors was really messing with his head.

Speaking of Gryffindors...

Some higher power out there – fate, god or whatever – really had to hate Draco. Because it had not been enough that Draco had been humiliated and betrayed by the Slytherins (the very house he had expected he rightfully belonged to, and by people he had known all his _life, _too), no, Potter and Weasley just had to be there to bear witness to the entire mess.

And the worst and utterly devastating part of it was that they had actually tried to protect him. Usually, Draco would have rather bitten out his tongue than ever admit to needing protection at all, but he was not delusional, either. He knew he would not have stood a chance against three Slytherins at once. Which meant Draco now _owed_ the other Gryffindors, and that was simply unacceptable. He absolutely hated owing people, and he especially hated owing Potter and Weasel... but that did not change the fact that those two dolts had tried to save him from what otherwise would have been a terribly one-sided (three against one, how was that even _fair_? But then again, Slytherins never really cared about sentimental stuff like_ fairness_, and Draco should probably shut up before he really started to sound like a bloody _Gryffindor_!) and probably very painful fight.

Sure, a large part of the credit went to Snape for showing up at the right time. However, Draco knew he _still_ owed the two Gryffindor idiots for trying to defend him. He huffed angrily. Why the hell did they do that, anyway?

Weasley had never left any doubt about the fact that he despised Draco. If anything, the blond pure-blood would have expected him to cheer for anyone trying to attack Draco, not jump to his side and risk getting caught in a fight. As for Potter...

Well, Draco had come to the conclusion he really, really hated Potter, and not just for the fact that, for some reason, the Boy-Who-Lived was somehow always around to see Draco fall to pieces. No, what really irked him was that the brunet had shot him down on the train without a second thought, but still, on some occasions in the past weeks, had actually tried to be nice to Draco.

Which raised the question of what the hell Potter was actually playing at. With anyone else, Draco might have suspected ulterior motives, but the bloody fool was to much of a Gryffindor for that. He probably just felt sorry for him, for whatever reason, and the very thought made Draco want to throw up. He did not need anyone's pity, much less Potter's, and he refused to be some kind of charity case! He was a Malfoy!

Not that it was doing him much good now, Draco thought glumly, his anger deflating somewhat and leaving him feeling miserable. Clearly, his name no longer carried the weight it once had. It was official: the house he had always wanted to belong to, the house that rightfully should have been his, now hated him. There was no place for Draco among the Slytherins.

As for his parents... well, Draco had not heard anything from home ever since he had left on the Hogwarts Express, so he could only imagine how they felt. Sure, his mother would occasionally sent him sweets, so maybe she did not hate him that much – but still, she was bound to be disappointed that Draco had become, of all things, a Gryffindor.

His father, on the other hand, was bound to be severely disappointed and quite possibly also livid, and Draco suspected that the only reason he had not gotten himself a howler was that this would reflect rather badly on the Malfoy name. No, Lucius Malfoy had opted to remain completely silent, not even one word said or written to his son, as if to punish Draco with his icy silence.

As if the very mess that Draco's life had turned into was not punishment enough. Why, why was his life such an absolute and utter _disaster_? His parents were disappointed. The other pureblood kids despised him for being a Gryffindor. The Gryffindors despised him for being... well, Draco took a guess that it was because he was a pure-blood and his father had been a Death Eater.

Not that he ever wanted the approval of his idiot housemates, of course. In fact, there was probably only one thing Draco and those Gryffindor buffoons agreed on, and that was that he did not belong there. He should have been in Slytherin. So why wasn't he?!

All his life, Draco had been sure of who exactly he was, what was expected of him, and what he could expect from life in turn, but now... now, he just wasn't sure anymore.

He did not belong in Gryffindor. Nor, as much as it pained him to admit, did he belong in Slytherin – that much was clear from the other Slytherin's attitude.

Which meant that Draco did not belong anywhere.

To his horror, the blond could feel the first signs of tears sting his eyes, and he angrily blinked them away. No, he would not cry, not ever again. Because he was still _Draco Malfoy_, and even though he was a little bit less certain as to what exactly being Draco Malfoy meant, he bloody well planned to find out. And he would do so alone if he had too.

Let those Gryffindor dimwits hate him if they wanted to. Draco did not need them. As for the Slytherins, well, to hell with them if they thought they could dismiss him this easily. They would come to regret it, he was sure. And it was not as if Draco needed them, either.

And if that meant he had to go through his time at Hogwarts all by himself, then so be it. Because he was _Draco Malfoy_, and he did not need anyone.


End file.
